<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Evil Ex-Boyfriends Club by Aipilosse</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313787">The Evil Ex-Boyfriends Club</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aipilosse/pseuds/Aipilosse'>Aipilosse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aredhel tries to help, Aredhel/OC, Celebrimbor is still processing things, Fingon mopes, Frottage, Just doing whatever I want to with LACE, M/M, Minor F/F, Minor disturbing imagery, New Beginnings, Not crack despite the title, Oral Sex, Rare Pairings, References to Torture, There's a lot of home improvements in this fic, Turgon would start the HGTV of Middle Earth, Valinor, references to domestic abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:02:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313787</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aipilosse/pseuds/Aipilosse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After returning from Mandos years after everyone else in his family, Fingon has a difficult time coming to terms with his past. Aredhel thinks a change of scenery will help. Elsewhere in Aman, Celebrimbor is also trying to cope.</p>
<p>Or, what happens when all your OTPs are tragic and you just want some of them to be happy sometimes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Celebrimbor | Tyelperinquar/Sauron | Mairon (past), Fingon | Findekáno/Celebrimbor | Tyelperinquar, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo (past)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fingon I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*Shows up to the fandom 5-15 years late with a pairing no one asked for*</p>
<p>After literally years of lurking in and out of the Tolkien fandom, I finally decided to write a story that just wouldn't leave me alone. Comments and concrit are welcome! If people are still on the hell-site, I'd love to hear from you there: <a href="https://aipilosse.tumblr.com/"> tumblr </a></p>
<p>Updates weekly.</p>
<p>I'm using Sindarin names for the most part, but I will use Quenya names when I think characters would.</p>
<p>Fingon - Findekáno (Finno)<br/>Finarfin - Arafinwë<br/>Aredhel - Írissë (Rissë)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At first, Fingon could only rejoice at having a body again. The smell of air, the feel of wind on his skin, and the sunlight slanting through the trees all seemed beautiful beyond belief. As he wandered through the woods outside of Mandos, the vague feeling that he was searching for something faded to the faintest echo that he could remember across long ages.</p><p>After the thrill of being corporal faded, Fingon began to notice where he was travelling. After walking for some time. Following the indistinct path he found under his feet when he left Mandos, the road became more defined. After a few days of traveling, he began to realize where he was heading. Of course his road was taking him to Tirion. The white walls are not unchanged. The city is larger, and the architecture more varied than what he remembered. Fingon heard from the farmer who gladly gave him a ride at an earlier part of his journey that Arafinwë still ruled here as High King of the Noldor. He couldn’t help but exclaim, “After so long! May the Valar have mercy upon him.”</p><p>The farmer gave him a curious glance, clearly wanting to ask further why he might think being High King is not the blessing one might assume. Fingon reflected that his uncle, wise and even-tempered as he remembered him, may have taken to the kingship more than he did. The farmer did not press though, and it seems that the Robes of the Reawakened that Fingon wears will protect him from prying questions for a time. The sensations of the rocking cart, the smell of spring, and the warmth of the sun soon chased any thoughts of kingship from his mind.</p><p>Fingon was glad of his conversation with the farmer later if just for the practice of speaking, as he walked through the gates of the palace and located a steward. The words still seem to stick in his mouth as he looked at the steward’s enquiring face. Finally, the words came.</p><p>“Please inform King Arafinwë that his nephew, Findekáno Ñolofinwion<em>, </em>of the house of Finwë, is here to see him.”</p><p>The man’s face lights up, as he seemed to take in his face fully for the first time. He managed to say, “I will let them know at once!” before running off at top speed into the palace proper.</p><p>Fingon expected the man to return to lead him in for an official introduction, when the first blow falls. “Findekáno!” With his senses still so acute after long years of disuse, the scent that surrounded him was familiar, overpowering, and brought an ache of joy so deep it felt like pain. The sound of a name he hadn’t been called in so many years rung like the bells of Valimar.</p><p>“<em>Amil</em>.” And so began the joy of reunions.</p><p>~</p><p>Fingon was not sure why he assumed that the rest of his family would not be there to greet him. Somewhere in his mind, in a place that does not quite feel like memory, he knows he spoke with his father, sister, and brother in the Halls. When he had left, he had not believed he was following anyone. If he were to put why he had been reincarnated in words, he would say he felt he had finally stopped searching and had drifted into dreams where the hum of insects and golden sun seemed to surround him. When he opened his eyes at last, he was sitting in the woods in springtime and the glorious feeling of embodiment overwhelmed him.</p><p>When he and Anairë could finally form words amidst the joy and tears, the first thing she said was,“In this of all things you must be last! I have waited so long to embrace you; we feared you’d never return to us.”</p><p>“Never return? It’s not been that long. The elf I spoke with on the way here said the year in Middle-Earth is only 552.”</p><p>“552 of the Third Age! You have missed a whole age upon the earth.”</p><p>Fingon stared at his mother as he tried to fit the events in his mind together. Time in Mandos did not flow as it does without the halls. Great events in the world filter through to the souls who dwell there through the tapestries that Vairë and her Maiar weave, but the greater meaning is hard to grasp for souls dreaming of their past deeds. And so, Fingon knew that Morgoth was defeated, that Beleriand had sunk, and that evil still dwelled in the world and the battle against the dark was not yet finished for those who dwelt in Middle Earth, but it registered as if it were a list of events upon a single page, with no context and limited meaning.</p><p>“And how long was the Second Age?” he asked Anairë.</p><p>“Over 3,000 years.” With that, Anairë began to cry again.</p><p>The knowledge so much time had passed since he had lived stunned Fingon into silence. The thought of all that must have happened since he dwelt in Mandos was paralyzing. How much must have changed? Beleriand had sunk; the shape of the world was changed forever. Kingdoms must have risen, fallen, and risen again. Anairë guided him to a bench in the courtyard.</p><p>“Breath. Breath. Finno dear, we are here to help you learn how to live again.” Anairë’s eyes still shone with joy and tears and mirth. “I have become something of an expert of how to guide the long dead in their first years outside the halls.”</p><p>His mother’s words finally registered meaning. Fingon turned with a frown. “We? Who else has returned?”</p><p>“Fingon!” A familiar voice rang through the courtyard. Turgon’s face shone was a joy that Fingon had not seen since the land had been bathed in the light of the Trees. He leapt to his feet, embracing his brother with more tears, laughter, and dizzying joy.</p><p>And then his father, who had remained in his mind as grim, full of rage and despair, shadowed by ice, fire, and old defiance, his father was clutching him to his chest and his face was open and shining. Fingolfin had a smile so broad Fingon thought he would break into pieces of joy, like beams of colored light, scattered across the room by glittering crystals and sunlight.</p><p>“Aredhel. Is she here as well?” Finno asked.</p><p>“Yes, yes. She took longer than Ñolofinwë or Turukáno, but she still has dwelt in Aman for an age.” Anairë paused, trying to recall her daughter’s whereabouts. “I believe she was exploring the mountains, but she may also be out hunting.”</p><p>Turgon smiled. “I no longer try to keep track of Írissë’s movements. It’s one of the many ways I’ve grown in wisdom I think.”</p><p>Fingon laughed and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “And to think you were called the wise back in Beleriand! I tremble to think the heights of wisdom you’ve achieved since then.”</p><p>The glorious joy of the moment filled Fingon until he was overflowing and he had to close his eyes against the overpowering feeling. He had not believed his heart could be this full since shortly before the darkening of Aman. To be together with his family again, after so much grief and death, seemed beyond belief.</p><p>~</p><p>It took some months until the grief began to seep back in. Although death for most of the Eldar is not the final note as it is for the <em>Atani</em>, Fingon knew bringing grief and violent death was a terrible thing. He couldn’t recall conversing with Námo in his halls, but he was certain that part of the bargain for returned kinslayers was restitution for those wronged in his past life.</p><p>Fingon made his first grave apology to High Queen Eärwen that very same day he arrived in Tirion, apologizing for the division he wrought within the family and for the grief and horror of Alqualondë.</p><p>Eärwen, with equal gravity told him, “Rise nephew. I have forgiven you already, and the joy you have brought to this house after returning unlooked for after so long is restitution enough for me. Any bitterness I once held was washed away by tears as I heard of the great anguish that came to you and yours in the years following your Exile.”</p><p>With that statement, Eärwen came forward to press him in a crushing hug. “My father will have more to say, I think, and require some action on your part to make things right for the Teleri. But I am not my father, and I have been High Queen of Noldor for many ages. There is a day once a year when those who participated in the Kinslaying of Alqualondë may speak to King Olwë and be judged by him. That is not until the waning of summer, so be at peace here in Tirion and live with your family.”</p><p>When the day arrived, Fingon waited in the antechamber to the throne room with two other Noldor. Apparently, Olwë’s judgment day was put in place shortly after the War of Wrath after a period of months where his court was filled with penitent Noldor from lost Beleriand and returned from Mandos. For maybe a thousand years after, dozens would appear every year to make their apologies to Olwë and the Teleri. Now, the participants in the First Kinslaying were mostly returned, and there was only a handful each year. The day remained however as a marker of remembrance and warning for all.</p><p>The other two elves were called first to answer for their crimes. The first was a woman named Úllothel, garbed in unfamiliar clothes but with a faintly familiar face. She had died during the Battle of Dagorlad, after refusing Eönwë’s summons at the end of the first age. She had participated in the Kinslaying, and had crossed the Helcaraxë with Fingolfin’s host afterwards. Fingon tried to place her, but couldn’t. Olwë’s judgment was ten years of service to the Teleri.</p><p>“What was your profession?” Olwë asked her.</p><p>“I was a cook my lord” Úllothel responded. “I helped keep the host fed through many battles during the first age, and I eventually ended up running the kitchen for Lord Harthor in Lindon for many years.”</p><p>“Speak with Landor, he’ll find a suitable way you can use your skills to serve the Teleri.”</p><p>Úllothel bowed. “Thank you my lord for your mercy.” She left with a lighter step. It occurred to Fingon that Olwë’s sentences were as much for the Noldor as for the Teleri. It could allow them to feel useful, and let go of old guilt. He wondered how he would feel after he spoke with Olwë; he somehow doubted it would make him feel better. If he scratched hard enough, beneath the layers of guilt there was still hardened defiance. He would work to right the wrongs of Alqualondë if he could, but he still remembered the feeling of being caged, and the hopeless rage he had felt on that night. Despite all the long years and evils since, the first rejection of the Valar still stung, and he did not think Noldor were the only ones who had acted rashly in that hour.</p><p>The other elf had been a thrall in Angband. To him Olwë said, “You have paid enough for the follies of your kindred. We hold no ill will towards you, for in the years since we have helped with healing many of your brothers and sisters. If you wish it though, there is a place for you by the shore, for the sea can wash away many ills.”</p><p>When it was Fingon’s turn, he knelt before Olwë. “High King, the first blood I shed was the evilest. Long have I wished that I stood aside on that night, or paused in my haste, for surely other routes to Middle Earth were possible. I am sorry for the grief and violence I brought to you and yours.”</p><p>“Fingon! My daughter and her family despaired of seeing you beneath the sun again. Yet I have not forgotten your role as a leader to the hosts of the Noldor. Second only the Sons of Fëanor were you in the Kinslaying.”</p><p>For a long moment Olwë considered him as the sea breeze blew through the white arches of the hall.</p><p>“Here is my decree, that you serve the Teleri in labor for one <em>yen</em>. May the work of your hands help heal the long scarred wounds of the flight of the Noldor.” There were some faint sounds in the hall, as of the intake of breath. Fingon wondered if Olwë’s sentence was harsher than was typical. Despite his earlier misgivings however, he felt some resolution for the sins of ages past. The thought of years of hard work ahead of him was also not daunting. In Beleriand, he had spent many years building Hithlum with his father and the thought of immersing himself in similar tasks lay light on his mind.</p><p>Then Olwë stepped down from his throne and drew Fingon up and embraced him. “I cannot let you off any lighter,” he murmured. “For your later heroism does not erase previous villainy.”</p><p>“My lord, your justice does not trouble me, and I would gladly serve twice as many years if it assuages any anger still held against me and my people,” Fingon responded.</p><p>~</p><p>At first, working on the maintenance of the Teleri kingdom was focus enough for Fingon. Whether it was bridge building, dock repair, or roadwork, the labor was hard and he fell into an exhausted slumber each night before arising in the morning with fresh purpose, wholly focused on the day ahead.</p><p>But the past began to creep back into his life, almost without noticing. Some of the elves he worked with were Sindarin, for many of the Sindar lived and worked near the sea they grew to love after they travelled to Aman. That was when he first met an elf of Doriath, and heard a first hand account of the Second Kinslaying.</p><p>It had been a cold day, and it took a roaring fire and hearty food to drive away the chill. Fingon couldn’t wrest his eyes from the fire where he and the Sinda who he’d coaxed into telling his history sat.</p><p>The Sinda, Naron, was still talking. “I still dream of running through the tunnels of Menegroth. All the lamps were put out, so the darkness was almost complete. Every time I come across a group of elves, I feel the horror of having to decide if they are friend or foe. That was the longest night of my life, and I fought and died later in the War of Wrath.”</p><p>Fingon still couldn’t meet his eyes. “Did you see the sons of Fëanor?” He didn’t know what he hoped to gain in this conversation, but the words came out anyway.</p><p>“Aye. I was wounded and hid in one of the airshafts that were throughout the palace. I had lost so much blood, and could only see the tops of their heads, but I’m sure I saw Maedhros and Maglor searching the halls. They were fighting, or at least Maglor was, railing to anyone who would listen that the Silmaril was lost. Then they moved far enough away from my hiding spot that I could see their faces. Maglor was wild eyed; I thought he was going to start screaming any minute. Maedhros was scarred, streaked with blood, and when I looked at his face I thought for a moment I was looking at the face of dead elf, it was so still and grim. For a second, I thought he saw me, and I was more terrified than when a spider in Nan Dungortheb had almost caught me. But he looked away, told his brother to shut up, and they left the room.”</p><p>For several minutes, Fingon and Naron both stared into the fire. Naron suddenly set down his glass. “Come now! The night is dark enough without dwelling on old woes. Noldor and Sindar may have come to strife in the past, but as evidenced by you and I, we can still come together and work on a shared goal. If they could hold cups, I’m sure the horses resting in the snug stables we just finished would toast us for our labor.”</p><p>Fingon tried for a time to match Naron’s lighter turn, and speak of merry things, but after a short while he made his excuses and went to bed. That night in his bunk, he dreamed he made love to a corpse with empty grey eyes, and red hair. He knew he should push him away, but every time he tried, he just ended clutching the boney shoulders tighter.</p><p>~</p><p>The story of the Havens of Sirion came later. Seeing a tapestry of an event as a disembodied soul, and hearing it from your brother’s valet are two different things entirely. Fingon knew that, but he still sought for Pedirion and his story while he stayed one holiday with Turgon and Elenwë. He felt like a tongue that can’t stop poking at the gap where a tooth has been ripped out.</p><p>Pedirion told of the bitter fight, made more so by the wounds he still bore from a battle just a few days before against invading orcs.</p><p>“We thought they’d come back to finish the job, and for the moment we were overjoyed when we saw they were elves, for we thought Gil-Galad had sent us protection. But when I saw the red eight-pointed star my heart sank, and I remembered the Silmaril.”</p><p>Pedirion looked at Fingon side-eyed. ”And so we fought, and I died along with many other survivors of Gondolin. But I’m here now, serving Turgon again after so many years, and living in peace and prosperity.” He clearly wanted to get back to whatever he had been working on before, but was too polite to say so.</p><p>“Did you see them?” Fingon asked softly.</p><p>Pedirion finally looked him full in the face “Maedhros killed me. I was trying to stop him from entering Lady Elwing’s home, and I called to him and bid him remember me from our youth in Valinor. But there was no recognition in his face, and I only met his sword a few times before the killing blow fell. I don’t know why I thought he would remember me. I think the only thing that he could hear at that point was the Oath. The youth whose horse I helped in Tirion was long dead.” He placed a hand on Fingon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Fingon tried to smile at him, but felt like his face must be making the wrong shape. Pedirion gave him a pitying look.</p><p>“I’m sure you fought bravely,” Fingon said. “Our family has been fortunate to have your service all these years.”</p><p>Pedirion was trying to think of some response, but Fingon clapped him on the shoulder, reminded him of his early departure tomorrow, and wished him well before walking away. That night he didn’t dream of anything, but woke several times sure that something was looking for him. He was torn between throwing the door open to and saying ‘Here I am!’ or hiding under the bed.</p><p>~</p><p>He met Gil-galad on an off day, waiting on the docks ready to greet him as soon as he disembarked the ship from Tol Eressëa. He was more nervous for this meeting than any previous reunion. He hadn’t seen Gil-galad since he was a young child, and he remembered him always running, laughing, and shouting. Fingon had been reluctant to take him as an infant; he’d never pictured himself as a father and was as convinced as Finrod, despite lacking his cousin’s foresight, that he would not have a family in Beleriand, if for different reasons.</p><p>His father had been grim in those days, and Fingon wondered after how long he had been planning to challenge Morgoth. The heads of Noldorin houses in Middle Earth had gathered – a once in a century occurrence. As Finrod, Orodreth, Lalwen, and Maedhros descended into the typical Finwë family shouting match, Fingolfin had bounced Gil-galad on his knee with a small smile, making him giggle, distracting him from the strife around him.</p><p>“Well you can be wrong for once in your life Finrod!” Orodreth’s normally placid face was wrathful. “Manwë forbid you make a single mistake. He’d actually be safe in Nargothrond.”</p><p>“Then why can’t he be yours?”</p><p>“Because no care about the second son!” As soon as the words were out of Lalwen’s mouth her eyes went wide and everyone nervously glanced at Fingolfin. Fingolfin didn’t pause the bouncing pattern he amused the baby with.</p><p>“He goes to Fingon. Fingon needs an heir.” Fingolfin’s tone booked no argument.</p><p>“Me?” Fingon sat up abruptly. “I don’t know how to raise a child.”</p><p>“No one does the first time. I’d argue it’s not a guarantee the second time either,” his father said wryly.</p><p>Fingon frowned at Gil-galad’s happy, chubby face.</p><p>Fingolfin stood up. “I’ll draw up the first draft of the birth announcement,” and in what Fingon swore afterwards was the most underhanded action his father ever took, handed Gil-galad to Maedhros.</p><p>Maedhros immediately tucked him against his side, and smiled without bitterness. It was the first genuine smile Fingon had seen since he had arrived at Hithlum three days ago. Gil-galad cooed, and happily reached for Maedhros’ face, grabbing at his broken nose.</p><p>Fingon looked at this father despairingly. Lalwen looked at Fingon, Finrod looked at Lalwen, Orodreth glared at Finrod. Maedhros and Gil-galad looked at each and made absurd cooing noises. Fingolfin looked at no one but continued writing at his desk.</p><p>“Lalwen I don’t know what you were thinking. Gil-galad doesn’t flow at all. And a hyphen!” Maedhros dipped Gil-galad, causing another eruption of baby laughter.</p><p>“You still just dislike Sindarin”</p><p>“Not true! There are some very beautiful sounds in Sindarin, just don’t go telling Thingol that.” He gazed adoringly at Gil-galad. “What about Ereinion? Now that’s a beautiful name.”</p><p>As Fingon tried to keep from pacing on the docks, he wondered if Gil remembered the few years he lived with him when Maedhros visited frequently. He hoped not.</p><p>Seeing Gil-galad again after all these years was almost as awkward as he feared. Fingon went for a hug, while Gil-galad tried out a manly clap on the back. Then Fingon fell back ready to hold out a hand, while Gil-galad moved in. They settle on a mutual grasp of the forearms. Then they realized they didn’t know what to call the other.</p><p>Fingon cleared his throat, “King Gil-galad, it’s good to see you.”</p><p>“Gil, please! It’s good to see you too…”</p><p>“Fingon” he said firmly. King was unnecessary and <em>adar</em> was out of the question.</p><p>Eventually the conversation flowed easier, with the aid of cider and a plate of something to share. Eventually Fingon found himself circling around the darker topics as he always did, like a vulture eyeing a carcass.</p><p>“I often wonder if I did the right thing for you. You became high king so young; you were less than one hundred years I believe.”</p><p>“And what could you have done better? Practiced slaying Balrogs?”</p><p>“Well I don’t know. How many did Ecthelion slay? Four?”</p><p>Gil rolled his eyes. “It was later agreed that killing you was a key part of Morgoth’s strategy during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. A High King who has limited communication and dwells in a hidden kingdom is easier to deal with. And you were a symbol of hope and courage. Symbols are important.”</p><p>“I was a shit High King. Minas Tirith fell during my reign, the seeds of the downfall of Nargothrond were sown, and my notable feat was joining the Union of Maedhros and we know how that went down.”</p><p>Gil gave Fingon a searching look. Fingon was reminded uncomfortably of the years Gil-galad had on him, where he had ruled in Middle Earth, and Fingon drifted in Mandos, learning nothing new, dwelling on the past.</p><p>“Well.” Gil sat back. “I don’t think uniting against Morgoth was a mistake, regardless of how it turned out and whatever happened to him later.”</p><p>Fingon made a noncommittal sound.</p><p>“Are you going to ask?”</p><p>Fingon finally looked up. “Ask about what.”</p><p>“Am—Aunt Lalwen told me you’ve been asking everyone about him.”</p><p>“Lalwen and Aredhel seem to have the most to say about Olwë’s sentence. I’m perfectly happy.” Fingon couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled genuinely. Months ago, probably.</p><p>“So?” Gil-galad looked at him expectantly.</p><p>Fingon sighed. He had been planning on asking Gil-galad about Maedhros.</p><p>“Tell me.” He took a fortifying sip of his cider</p><p>“I was ready to kill him myself, but Eönwë forbade it. Smug bastard. I think that’s what he wanted. But, you know, little pity, shadows of regret, all that.” Gil-galad paused. “I was still trying to figure out the kingly things to say. Maybe ‘and thus passes the sons of Fëanor’ or ‘and the Oath is fulfilled’ but Elrond grabbed me by the elbow and said, ‘Send someone to follow them Your Majesty!’ That may still be the most sarcastic ‘Your Majesty’ someone has managed yet; impressive, considering how young Elrond was at the time.</p><p>“That’s how we heard of his death. The elf we sent to follow him and Maglor was horrified. He was a friend of mine, and maybe the same age as me. We hadn’t thought it was possible for one of the Eldar to kill themselves. There was a lot of murmurs about just deserts, but it didn’t feel like justice to me.”</p><p>Fingon gripped his mug in both hands and gazed somewhere past Gil-galad’s shoulder. “I never thought it would end that badly.”</p><p>“Would you have done anything differently?”</p><p>“Yes,” Fingon stopped. “At least that’s what I’m supposed to say.”</p><p>“Something that took me an embarrassingly long time to realize is that even if you’re High King, ultimately the only person’s actions you can control is your own.”</p><p>“It seems everyone is surpassing me in wisdom these days.”</p><p>“Well, you were never The Wise, that was always Turgon’s forte.”</p><p>There was another long pause while Fingon and Gil-galad drank deeply.</p><p>“You know what I never got to show you?” asked Fingon.</p><p>“Many things – I could barely ride a full size horse when you sent me off to Círdan.”</p><p>“Well, that’s true enough! What I was thinking though was that I never showed you how to get properly drunk.”</p><p>Gil-galad smiled. “I figured that out on my own after a while I think.” He took another sip. “But maybe there’s still more to learn.”</p><p>“Also a sign of your wisdom – never stop learning.” Fingon tilted his chair back so he could catch the eye of the server. “One bottle of the Telerin Spirits please.”</p><p>The rest of the evening was hazy, and if he dreamed, Fingon didn’t remember. He woke early and cold, with Gil-galad still fast asleep beside him, wrapped in all the blankets. His head was pounding, and his mouth was fuzzy and foul tasting.</p><p>He tapped Gil on the shoulder before he left, and said a quick farewell before he slipped out of the room, stealing himself for the slog of working through an awful hangover.</p><p>~</p><p>There was a delightful friction on his cock, and he left his eyes closed for a moment.</p><p>“This is a dream,” he murmured.</p><p>“Is it? Then we’ll have to make sure it’s a good one Beloved.”</p><p>He slowly opened his eyes, taking in the red hair, the twisted smile, the scars, the clear grey eyes, and crooked nose. Beautiful.</p><p>He moved his face forward to kiss the familiar lips, while still shifting his hips against Maedhros’. They broke apart, breathing hard, and Fingon leaned his head against the wall Maedhros had him trapped against. He brought his face forward again into the crook of his neck, and gave a gentle nip, breathing in the familiar scent of musk, pine, steel, and copper. Copper? He felt Maedhros gasp and grind against him harder.</p><p>He felt a nudge against his calf. “Not now Riros” he groaned.</p><p>His dog nudged again, more forcefully. Fingon wrenched his head away from Maedhros’ neck to look at Riros. “Out.”</p><p>Riros whined, and walked away, leaving a trail of red paw prints.</p><p>He felt Maedhros’ hand fumbling at his belt. “You’re wearing far too many clothes.”</p><p>Fingon tilted his head into another kiss, letting the sensation of Maedhros’ lips, fingers, and cock travel along his nerves with bright sparks. Wait. He broke the kiss and frowned. Maedhros’ clothes were bloodstained and damp. “Love, are you injured?”</p><p>Maedhros smirked. “I will be if you don’t help with this belt.”</p><p>Fingon’s hands drifted down, but he also looked over to his left where Riros had been nudging him. There was a puddle of blood on the ground. Maedhros abandoned the belt, and grabbed his chin before pressing his lips against his. Fingon wrenched his head to the side. With growing horror, he saw the trail of dead elves leading to them: men, women, and elflings. None were wearing armor.</p><p>His heart pounded harder, and he couldn't tell if it’s with fear or desire. “Maedhros, what happened?”</p><p>Maedhros just moved harder against him, bringing their erections together in a rhythm designed to send him over the edge.</p><p>Fingon felt the heat on his skin. He was naked, and Maedhros felt like a brand against him. When he could bring himself to look at Maedhros again, he realized it was more than lust. Maedhros was burning, flames licking up his arms, catching on his hair, and his hand already looks like a charred claw.</p><p>“Pay them no heed Beloved,” he said as he tried to kiss Fingon again. Fingon dodged the kiss, but couldn’t make himself break away. Maedhros’ eyes began melting down his face and he still moved against him, the pressure and heat building.</p><p>Fingon wanted to scream, push him away, move, escape, run but he felt frozen in place as his orgasm broke over him.</p><p>“Fingon, Fingon, Fingon,” Maedhros whispered. Fingon managed to sit up.</p><p>“Fingon, wake up!” the elf next to him was ready to duck out of the way.</p><p>His blood was loud in his ears, but the room was still quiet and someone was softly snoring.</p><p>Fingon put his hands over his face and took a breath, before looking at the elf who woke him up.</p><p>“I thought you were going to fall out of the bunk.” Iallion rested an anxious hand on Fingon’s shoulder.</p><p>Fingon tried for a reassuring smile. From Iallion’s face, it wasn’t working. “Bad dream. Don’t worry friend.”</p><p>“Do you need anything?”</p><p>“No. Please don’t trouble yourself; I’ll be fine in a moment.”</p><p>Fingon waited a few moments after Iallion lay back down in his bunk. He was sticky and embarrassed; all he wanted to do was dump a bucket of water over his head. Most of the time he enjoyed living in the dorms in Alqualondë, the camaraderie distracting him, and the convenience of a simple life with few belongings kept him from buying a house in the city, but there were drawbacks.</p><p>He made his way to the baths afterwards, grateful for the pre-dawn privacy. He washed thoroughly and readied himself for the day ahead. He braided his hair into a single braid, and donned the simple tunic and leggings he now typically wore. No one would be at the site yet, but there were a few tasks a single person could do to prep for the bridge repairs they were tackling today, and Fingon could get those done.</p><p>His days were full of building and fixing, and he frequently met in the evenings with city architects and planners, discussing updates and fixing blueprints. He had always considered himself subpar in the arts of architecture, but then again he’d been comparing himself to his brother, one of the greatest of the Noldor. As he worked, memories of planning Hithlum came back, and there was a satisfying feeling of progress as he considered all he’d been able to assist with in the years since his return.</p><p>As he walked through the quiet streets, he wondered how many more opportunities he would have to tear open the wounds of the past. There was always an elf from the Havens, a survivor of Doriath, or a soldier in the War of Wrath who could tell some horrifying new detail about Maedhros. That was the source of his latest nightmare he suspected. The soldier hadn’t even spoken of the sons of Fëanor; he had managed to miss the whole episode. Instead, he spoke of the horror of the breaking earth, the constant sulfur and smoke, the oppressive heat that rose from the cracks in the earth, and the winter that lasted years.</p><p>The day passed quickly. Fingon had been working with the same crew for a while, involved in a project to repair several bridges in and around Alqualondë. He was still immersed over dinner, debating with the foreman whether the work to remove, clean, and re-carve the decorative work along the sides was worth it, or if they should wholly replace the stones on the next project, when his sister walked into the dining hall.</p><p>She had shed the name Aredhel, and now only went by her Quenya name, Irisse. She was dressed in a bright pink gown with flowing sleeves. The skirt was split, with artful ruffles flowing down from the waist where two sides met. Her riding pants and boots were visible underneath, and the brown leather was a pleasing contrast to the soft gown. Fingon thought the Pink Lady of the Noldor didn’t quite have the same ring, but he hadn’t thought to ask about her change of wardrobe after his reincarnation, and now it had been too long to bring it up.</p><p>She still drew all the attention in the room to herself; that much hadn’t changed. As soon as she saw Fingon, she made a beeline to him. “Gentlemen, am I interrupting something?”</p><p>The foreman stood up and bowed. “We’re not discussing anything pressing my lady – I’m sure we’ll debate the merits of preservation versus replacement many more times.”</p><p>Fingon asked, “Is something wrong? I was planning to visit for Nost-na-Lothion in just a few weeks.”</p><p>“Can’t I visit my brother?” Írissë put her hands on her hips. “Come, let’s find some place to eat.”</p><p>“The dining hall’s not good enough for you?” Fingon jabbed, but he was already following her out the door.</p><p>“If I’m Alqualondë, I’m eating at Below the Village.”</p><p>Fingon didn’t resist, and they walked to the nearby restaurant. The restaurant was beneath a row of homes at garden level, with a short stair that lead from the street to the door. Inside there were plenty of nooks, each lit with a colored lantern, and with many embroidered cushions on the floor around the low tables in the traditional Telerin manner. Írissë found them a table in the corner with a small window above it where the warm late spring breeze gusted through.</p><p>She also took charge of ordering, requesting several types of fish, salad for both, and a bottle of wine. They talked of family gossip, the horses Írissë was breeding, and Fingon bored her with bridges. Írissë ordered a second bottle.</p><p>“So, how much longer are you going to play at Telerin builder?”</p><p>Fingon frowned. “You know that this is my penance from King Olwë.”</p><p>Írissë put down her glass and looked him in the eye. “Fingon, do you know what year it is?”</p><p>“What does that matter?”</p><p>“Your <em>yen</em> of service was over a year and a half ago. You don’t have to keep working for the Teleri.”</p><p>“I like the work, it’s fulfilling.”</p><p>Írissë shook her head. “You’re a High King of the Noldor; you can’t hide here forever.”</p><p>“Oh come now, you honestly can’t be arguing that Uncle Arafinwë needs my help. Between him, father, Turgon, and Gil-galad, I would think there’s at least two high kings to throw at any administrative task that arises.”</p><p>“Well, Gil-galad governs the Noldor in Tol Eressëa, but that’s beside the point.”</p><p>“What’s your point then? Why can’t I continue my labors here?”</p><p>Írissë gave him a searching look. “You can’t wallow forever. You and I were not built for endless grief and tears unnumbered, no matter what the tales say.”</p><p>“Wallowing!” Fingon mustered up an indignant look. “I’m very busy.”</p><p>“Is that why you’ve spoken to every refugee from Gondolin twice over?”</p><p>“It’s important to know your history.”</p><p>“That isn’t <em>your</em> history.”</p><p>Fingon didn’t know what to say to that. Írissë topped off both wine glasses. In a nearby nook, someone begins a song of springtime, tying the budding spring to the eternal renewal of life. Fingon thought that the winter has been very long.</p><p>“I searched for so long. I remember walking through the halls trying to see every face, rounding every corner. I accidentally ended up with mortals for a time I think, for the stream of people seemed endless, and some were old and withered.”</p><p>“I know,” said Írissë.</p><p>“I knew what had happened of course, I saw the tapestries the same as you did, but I thought if I could find him, he could explain, as if everything was a misunderstanding! Or maybe it wasn’t, but I’d save him anyway, drag him out the darkness like I did so many times before. But I couldn’t find him anywhere.”</p><p>“I know,” said Írissë.</p><p>“And now, I think if I could just understand what happened, if I could just listen to all of their stories, maybe I could still somehow, I don’t know, fix things.” Fingon realized he was crying on a piece of fish and sat back, running his fingers under his eyes.</p><p>“When I returned, I was so happy; my whole family was back. I thought surely, now the time of blessing is upon us. The bitterness of sundering is over and we can live in gladness. But I’m still so lonely, and visiting Tirion just makes it worse.</p><p>“Sometimes I still expect to look up and see him coming around the corner with some books, or a piece of metal work, or just a smile, and then I know I will never see him again, and even if I did I would just be angry. I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the heart.” Fingon gave up trying not to cry and rested his head and arms on the table.</p><p>Írissë watched her brother, clearly suppressing something. She finally burst out, “I know! Fingon, you are not the only who’s been unlucky in love.”</p><p>For a moment, his sister’s outburst distracted him wholly from his grief, and he looked at her amazed. Everyone was so careful with him, not wanting to rouse unpleasant memories, or even pleasant memories that may now be tainted by sorrows that followed. Fingon sat back with a rueful smile, even as he tried to dry off his cheeks.</p><p>“I see I may have been a bit self-absorbed. I’ve lost no more than many, and less than some.”</p><p>Írissë sighed, “I’m not looking for pity. I’ve had more than my share of that until the end of time. I am looking for my brother back. I don’t expect the same elf I hunted with in Valinor beneath the mingled lights, nor the same valiant king I sparred with in Beleriand, but I looked forward to your return for a long while regardless, and despaired when you didn’t appear for a whole age. I thought that it was very unfair to have lost a husband, a son, and many friends forever, and that it seemed I had lost a brother as well.”</p><p>“Do you still think Eöl and Maeglin will remain in the halls forever?”</p><p>“I never saw Eöl. I did search – not as long! But I suspected from the start that he rejected Mandos’ call. Lómion was there, and I sat with him for a long time, but he was still utterly uninterested in reincarnation when I returned an age ago.” She paused, her face troubled. “I’m told it’s not so strange for those who suffered the torments of Morgoth to never reincarnate, and if they leave, they rarely travel beyond Lórien.”</p><p>Fingon reached across the table to hold his sister’s hand. He had no words, but for a time stepped wholly outside his own sorrow and immersed himself in her grief.</p><p>After a time he smiled darkly, “So now here we are, with those dearest to us in Mandos, wandering as a houseless spirit, or dwelling in the Everlasting Dark.”</p><p>Írissë looked up at that. “I don’t think Maedhros has been cast into the Timeless Void.”</p><p>“Well he certainly wasn’t in Mandos.”</p><p>“Father swears he spoke to Fëanor in Mandos. If Fëanor was there, his sons should be as well.”</p><p>Fingon gave her a pointed look. “I thought you were trying to stop me from wallowing in grief.”</p><p>“I am! Having a husband consigned to the Void seems like the most grievous outcome of all! I’m trying to comfort you.”</p><p>“You’re shit at it.” Fingon laid his head on his arms again.</p><p>“So two houseless spirits then,” he spoke into the table. “Maybe, upon reflection, it will make me feel better, but right now I feel like a man who had had three arrows sticking out of him and had one removed. I guess two is better than three, but it still hurts.”</p><p>Írissë groaned, “I <em>am</em> shit at this. Let me start over. Fingon – it grieves me to see you hopelessly toiling for these boring Teleri taskmasters.” Fingon glanced quickly around and tried to will his sister to speak softer.</p><p>“Their cuisine is lovely, but it’s a narrow life. I propose that you leave your sad life of poverty. I have finally completed my lodge in the mountains, near the woods of Oromë, but my halls are empty and need occupants. And I am not living with Turgon again.”</p><p>Fingon’s glare dissolved into a genuine laugh at that last line. Írissë smiled. “Come, what say you? It’s a new place for new memories, and some measure of freedom away from our staid family.”</p><p>Fingon took a sip of wine. “It’s not a bad thought. Part of why I’ve given no thought to returning to Tirion is knowing I must endure the pity everyone is ready to dole out. My feelings are more complicated that just sadness, and none of them understand.”</p><p>“Join the club! It gets better over time, but it will be much better when I don’t live with them all the time.” Írissë sighed</p><p>“Hm, a club. What shall we call ourselves? Do you think we can find other sorry souls to join us at your hunting retreat?”</p><p>“I thought about asking Curufin’s wife, Ornéliel, but I doubt my forge is up to her standards. I also think she’s still not speaking to Finwions. At least she returned my last letter unopened years ago. But maybe we can establish ourselves first and increase the membership later. I also have a name for the club, but you’ll laugh.”</p><p>Fingon drained his glass. “I could use a laugh.”</p><p>“Alright. How about this: The Evil Ex-Boyfriends Club.”</p><p>Fingon smirked. “I think both of our exes were a bit more serious than that.”</p><p>“It’s just a name! And it makes it feel lighter – it’s easier to laugh at the grief then.”</p><p>“That’s good enough for me.”</p><p>“But you’re not protesting the ‘evil’ part?”</p><p>“I don’t know what else you’d call someone who kills unarmed children.”</p><p>“Hm, sometimes I feel like protesting – but I’ve always had a soft spot for Fëanorions.” Írissë drained her glass and thumped it on the table. “So, will you join me?”</p><p>“Let me think on it for a night.”</p><p>Írissë pouted.</p><p>Fingon threw up his hands. “Fine, OK, you convinced me! Let me talk to the foreman – I have about a week left on the current project. I think I’ll help him with the plans for the remaining repairs as well.”</p><p>Írissë made a grumpy noise. “I won’t be longer than a fortnight,” Fingon promised. “And then I have nothing holding me back – are you ready for me so soon?”</p><p>“Yes, all is ready.” Írissë sat back her eyes shining. “You’ll love it there! I’m so excited.”</p><p>Fingon nabbed the last piece of fish. The grief was still there, but he finally was thinking beyond the next project, and a dim vision of a future outside of current misery was there. “Let’s celebrate. How about a third bottle?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>No Celebrimbor in this chapter - he's up next.</p><p>The concept of Olwe instituting a day where repentent kinslayers could come seeking his forgiveness is from <a> The Starless Road</a>. It's an amazing fic that I highly recommend</p><p>The idea for Gil-galad's mother is from the lovely series <a> Return to Aman </a> by <a> bunn </a><br/>Amil - mother (Quenya)<br/>Atani -the Second Folk", an Elvish name of Mortal Men, the Second-born of Ilúvatar. (Quenya)<br/>Yen - Elvish long year (144 solar years) (Quenya)</p><p>Including Lalwen, because Middle Earth needs more ladies. Not including Argon because Middle Earth doesn't need another son who dies really early in the story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Celebrimbor I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Celebrimbor reunites with many people from his past. It's not as easy as he thought it would be.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm posting this chapter early since I'm going to my own remote retreat this weekend (lol, it's just camping upstate).</p><p>Somewhere down the line, the fandom decided that Celebrimbor went by Tyelpe with everyone close to him. My own take is that he probably went by his Sindarin name most of the time, as he would have spent the majority of his life speaking Sindarin. So here, those who knew him before the Exile call him Tyelperinquar and those who knew him after call him Celebrimbor. Each one is a "fair jaw-cracker" of a name, so I'm using the nickname Brim when he's with his friends from his old life. </p><p>Celebrimbor (Brim) - Tyelperinquar (Tyelpë)<br/>Curufin - Curufinwë (Curvo)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As he stood outside the stone cottage, Celebrimbor felt doubt. He’d been filled certainty since he left the Halls of Mandos. He had made his way to the village at the feet of the southern Pelori, and neither woods, nor hill, nor stream stayed him long. But now looking at the unfamiliar house, with the larger neighboring homes looming on either side, he wasn’t sure knocking was such a good idea. He knocked anyway.</p><p>“One moment!” called a voice from inside. Celebrimbor tried not to shift back and forth as he waited for the door open. The door opened. “How can-“ The woman in the door froze, mouth open.</p><p>Celebrimbor watched the familiar series of expressions cross Nerdanel’s face. Looking like your very famous father and grandfather had its drawbacks. First, the reaction for Fëanor: mingled rage, confusion, and, worst of all, hope. Then the reaction for Curufin: a start forward, love and fear in her eyes. Then, “Tyelperinquar,” as she unfroze and threw her arms around him.</p><p>“Haruni.”</p><p>The short curls on the top of her head tickled his nose. A thin layer of stone dust covered her skin and clothing. Celebrimbor sneezed.</p><p>Jolted out of the moment, Nerdanel took a deep breath. “Well, come in!”</p><p>Inside, the house somehow didn’t look as small as it did from the outside. The foyer was spacious, and opened into what would in most homes be the parlor. In Nerdanel’s home, there was something like a parlor, with several seats around a low table. One of the seats was a giant chair carved in stone. One wall was covered in a canvass sheet, covered in sketches, paint, graphs, and notes. The room had a few other sculptures of bronze, stone, marble, and other materials that would require a closer look to identify.</p><p>Nerdanel pulled him to one of the chairs in the center of the room. She also sat down and covered her face with her hands. “That any should return to me. I had not hoped.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, maybe I should have found a way to send a message ahead.”</p><p>“No, no, I’m happy, I really am.” Tears streamed down her face. “I just, I –“</p><p>“It’s alright. Please! Take the time you need.”</p><p>Nerdanel stared at a perfectly carved pear on the small table and focused on taking deep breaths. She wiped her eyes and looked up.</p><p>“I’m sorry, after all these years, I had lost all hope of seeing my sons or grandson ever again. I thought I had mourned that loss long ago, but every time I heard of another death, it still hurt. When I had heard that you refused Eönwë’s summons, I was proud. I shouldn’t have been! But I was. I hoped that you had escaped the doom. You know, I spoke to someone from Ost-in-Edhil, and it reminded me of some of the dreams of Fëanáro. A place for craft, and ideas, and…” She drifted off.</p><p>Celebrimbor straightened. “The end does not negate what we achieved.”</p><p>“No! You should be proud.” Nerdanel met his gaze with a fierce look. Then she sat back with a laugh. “I am the worst person to have started off with! I have friends who are quite experienced at this, welcoming back the returned, but I have never done so.”</p><p>Celebrimbor smiled. “This is my first time too.”</p><p>“I’m glad you came. Where are you staying?”</p><p>“Ah, well, I thought I might stay with you.”</p><p>Nerdanel lit up with a delighted smile. “I’m told I’m not the easiest house mate. I pound on stone and metal at all hours, I can’t cook, and I’m liable to turn any space here into a work room.”</p><p>“That’s what I was counting on.”</p><p>Nerdanel stood up. “I think some tea will help.”</p><p>After she returned with tea and pastries, Celebrimbor turned the conversation to her work, and the house. The more he looked, the more he could see her thought put into each corner of the house. From the carved beams, to the beautiful inlay of different woods in the table, to the fireplace with a flu that seemed to float and swirl up from the ground, every part spoke of someone who tried to impart beauty and function into every part of her life. The uncertainty from earlier was fading and he started to remember what the warmth of family felt like.</p><p>“I have to ask,” he finally said, “have you spoken to my mother at all?”</p><p>Nerdanel sighed. “No, Ornéliel will still have nothing to do with our family. I’ve reached out a few times, hoping to find someone to share in my grief, but each time my letters were sent back unopened.”</p><p>“I didn’t think it was otherwise. It didn’t occur to me until I was about to knock on your door that I could hope for something different. I can still remember her fight with my father – I think they were too alike. It grieved me to hear my parents say such things to each other. They both spoke to wound the other mortally.”</p><p>“Yes, they were drawn to the fire within the other, not unlike Fëanáro and I. We stoked each other’s flame, for a time at least. Curufinwë and Ornéliel just burnt the other.”</p><p>“I can understand the thrill of playing with fire.” He took a sip of tea.</p><p>Nerdanel sighed. “Yes, I’m sure you do.” She straightened. But let’s talk of something lighter. Tell me more about Ost-in-Edhil, it sounds so interesting.”</p><p>Celebrimbor told her about the city, beginning with its founding. He found the direction of the conversation kept steering towards the people he had known there, and the culture they had built. He told her of the exchange of ideas and people between the Atani that lived near Eregion, the elves, and the dwarves of Khazad-dûm.</p><p>“One of my favorite aspects of Ost-in-Edhil was working with the dwarves and Atani. Because of their limited life span, they felt more urgency to leave a lasting mark on the world. And in that urgency, they could sometimes grow great in a very short time. My friend Narvi always seemed to know the direction he needed to go in. He would take a day to deliberate, and then make a decision and begin to execute it immediately. I think you would have appreciated him.”</p><p>Nerdanel looked troubled. “I sometimes think that for all he was wrong, Fëanáro was right to see the limitations of Aman.”</p><p>“The children Aulë have achieved so much, and that achievement happened while contending with the shadow of Morgoth. I cannot but think our isolation leaves the world that much lessened.” Nerdanel and Celebrimbor both considered the potential of the dwarves for a long minute. Celebrimbor broke the silence first. “I did not mean to start my second life already grasping for more! I have ideas of my own I wish to start. Where’s your forge?”</p><p>~</p><p>Several days later, Celebrimbor faced Nerdanel’s forge, the same feeling of doubt growing in his heart.</p><p>Nerdanel had played at being put out for being valued just for her crafting equipment, but soon pulled Celebrimbor to the forge in one of the outbuildings. It was small but serviceable, and would work for the small projects Celebrimbor had already begun to plan. He then went to the village to purchase some materials and tools he would need. He had promised to pay Nerdanel back when he had something of his own to trade, but Nerdanel had absolutely refused. “I have millennia of overdue gifts to spoil my only grandchild with!” she claimed.</p><p>Some things needed to be ordered from Tirion, so his project had been paused. He spent the time helping Nerdanel with some repairs, remembering the rhythms of life, and reading.</p><p>After the tools and materials had arrived, Celebrimbor had gone to set up the forge. Now he was frozen in front of it, unable to bring himself to light the hearth. He sat on the floor. This was foolish – the drive to create, shape, and build was as strong as ever. He had spent his evenings drafting designs and sketching ideas in his notebook. The will was there – why wouldn’t his hands follow?</p><p>Deep in his mind images stirred of rings, clever hands, and golden eyes. They didn’t press upon him, but still floated in his thoughts. He had known the memories were there, and thought that he had made his peace with them – or at the least thought that the urge and habit to create was stronger than old ghosts, but it seemed something still haunted him.</p><p>Some time later, Nerdanel opened the door, curious at the lack of smoke coming from the forge. Seeing Celebrimbor sitting cross-legged on the floor gazing at the forge, she didn’t say anything, but sat down next to him. After a time, Celebrimbor asked without looking at her, “Do you take students?”</p><p>“Only the very brightest,” Nerdanel said seriously. “Good thing you were always exceptionally bright.” Her eyes gleamed.</p><p>“I think that’s what I want.”</p><p>“Good! We’ll start tomorrow, an hour after dawn!”</p><p>~</p><p>Celebrimbor was ready an hour after dawn, as was Nerdanel, to their mutual surprise.</p><p>“As you know, the best work can only be done with the best materials. Your first lessen will be how to gather and process clay.”</p><p>That day they dug, strained, dried and tempered. Nerdanel pointed out mineral compositions and the colors that resulted in the raw clay and the fired piece.</p><p>The next day was basic forms, proper composition, and how to throw a basic pot. Celebrimbor found sculpting to be immensely satisfying. He had always worked with his hands, but there was something about throwing clay that was even more physical. It forced him out of his mind and made him focus more on the sensations of the body.</p><p>A month later, Celebrimbor was still absorbed in the craft. He and Nerdanel worked until they were exhausted, sleeping odd hours, ignoring food until it became a necessity, then eating whatever they scrounged up. When their orbits aligned, Celebrimbor interrogated her on techniques and begged for critiques. Nerdanel didn’t hold back.</p><p>He worked on his own projects – first creating a set of jars, pots, and other containers for materials in the smithy. The finished works took up an entire wall, and were mostly empty. His next project was a series of artistic impressions of dwarvish culture, inspired by Nerdanel’s continued curiosity. Part way through, he realized the project required more than pure pottery. Nerdanel let him look through her collections of materials, but Celebrimbor couldn’t find the hue he was looking for in the collected gems.</p><p>He was already deeply involved in crafting a silver mesh colored a deep blue with soft white jewels set amidst it when he realized he had spent the whole day in the forge with no hesitation. He paused for a moment, and reflected that he was almost as happy as when Nerdanel had embraced him. Smiling to himself, he went back to work.</p><p>~</p><p>A few weeks later Nerdanel and her long-suffering housekeeper Tundië came back from their errands with an unexpectedly large bundle of papers. “Tyelpë, you have some mail,” Nerdanel told him.</p><p>Celebrimbor came in from the kitchen still holding the jar of pickled vegetables that was serving as a mid-morning meal. “For me? What is it?”</p><p>“How should I know?” Nerdanel dumped the letters on the table and went to help Tundië put away groceries.</p><p>Celebrimbor examined the letters. He felt growing dread as he saw one familiar name after another on the letters.</p><p>He was still staring at the pile of letters when Tundië and Nerdanel came back in the room. “Can you help us gather the laundry?” Nerdanel stopped and looked at Celebrimbor more closely. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Apparently the news of my return has spread.”</p><p>“Who are they from?”</p><p>“The former Gwaith-i-Mírdain mostly.”</p><p>“Well, you were their leader for hundreds of years.”</p><p>“I don’t know what’s worse – if these are piles of angry letters or if they’re not angry at all.” Celebrimbor started to tap one of the letters against the table, still not opening it. “I still feel like I failed them sometimes. They deserved better.”</p><p>Tundië sat down as well. “One of my grandchildren lived in Ost-in-Edhil you know. I don’t think many hold ill will towards you.”</p><p>Celebrimbor sighed. “I often think that if I could do it all again, I would, but then I remember all of my friends whose lives were cut short and whose homes were lost.”</p><p>Tundië put out her hand to still Celebrimbor’s restless tapping of the letter. “I don’t think you’re the only one who feels that way.”</p><p>Nerdanel looked over the pile. “I expect the rumor of your return began some weeks ago, it just took until now for the mail carriers to figure out where you were living.” She picked up one of the fattest envelopes. “So, should we put these away? Send them back?”</p><p>Celebrimbor frowned. “No, I owe it to them to read their letters and respond.”</p><p>“What if we all just begin opening them, speed through to get the essence, and sort them in some way,” Nerdanel suggested. “Unless you think there are private matters within?”</p><p>“No, it’s as good a way as any to start. There might be some rude language within, but I don’t think there will be anything private.”</p><p>Tundië grabbed a letter with a snort. “I think we can handle that.”</p><p>They began opening letters and scanning the contents. To Celebrimbor’s consternation, most of the letters were actually invitations. Elf after elf invited him to stay, either as a visit or more permanently. Implicit in many of these was the idea that he would go to Tol Eressëa and take up some sort of lordship there.</p><p>None were the wrathful letters he had thought most likely, although some were heavy, or tinged with old anger and full of all they had lost.  In addition to the invitations, some were brief statements of support. There was at least one that was just diagrams and sketches; the only word in the whole packet was ‘Feedback?’ scrawled on a scrap of paper.</p><p>By the end of the letters, Tundië had out a map of Avallónë where she was attempting to sketch out a possible series of visits Celebrimbor could undertake. Nerdanel was twitching with pride, and Celebrimbor had a headache.</p><p>“I’m going to the forge,” he said abruptly.</p><p>When he came back to the house, it was very late. Nerdanel was still up, sketching at the table. She looked up, worry in her eyes. Celebrimbor sat down at the table with her. “I hadn’t even thought about returning to the Gwaith-i-Mírdain and now that I’m thinking about it, it’s terrifying.”</p><p>“I’m not kicking you out.” Nerdanel smiled, but still looked concerned.</p><p>“Now that the door is open, I don’t think I’ll be able to just shut it and go back to pretending I’m a simple smith living with his grandmother.”</p><p>They sat in silence for several minutes. “Maybe just start with a small visit to someone you were close with, if there is one?” suggested Nerdanel.</p><p>Celebrimbor sighed. “That might work.” He started to sort through the letters still on the table. He pulled out one of the smaller envelopes.</p><p>“Maybe I’ll visit Coroniel.” He grimaced. Her letter had been short and to the point:</p><p>Brim,</p><p>I can’t believe you’re back. I also can’t believe you haven’t written or visited yet. The new cooling system works, and I’ve wanted to show you for hundreds of years. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, so I kept tinkering and now it’s a monstrosity. I’m incredibly angry; please come at once.</p><p>-          Cori</p><p>Celebrimbor felt a little guilty for not writing to Coroniel earlier. She was one of his oldest friends; they had met in Gondolin when he was a refugee from Nargothrond and not going by any family name. Since then, Coroniel had been a close friend, colleague, and one of the first people he turned to with an engineering problem. Of all the former colleagues and friends who had written so far, she was the one he could picture actually seeing and conversing with again. Besides, she likely was not lying about the cooling system, so that could provide a distraction if necessary.</p><p>Celebrimbor rummaged in a side table for paper, quill, and ink, and began writing her back.</p><p>~</p><p>Being the most famous corpse of the Second Age had its drawbacks, Celebrimbor reflected. His troubles started on the ferry to Tol Eressëa when he noticed one of the other passengers staring at him.</p><p>“Good morning, friend. Can I help you?” he asked. The man tried to form words. Celebrimbor touched his face, wondering if something was on it. “Is something the matter?”</p><p>The man finally managed to respond faintly, “No, no, please pardon me my lord. The last time I saw you was just under very different circumstances.” He kept staring.</p><p>“Ah well, well met, I suppose.” Celebrimbor sat back and tried to ignore his fellow traveler. Unfortunately, a few other elves on the ferry were now stealing glances. Celebrimbor had gone with a plain cloak and tunic, not bearing any heraldic devices, but he had not considered that he might still be recognizable while dressed plainly.</p><p>He had read a brief account of what happened after his death, and had read that Sauron displayed his body as a standard, but he had immediately filed that image away as one that wasn’t worth dwelling on. He had been dead, so what did it matter? Now the uncomfortable thought was growing that maybe his remains had been up there for longer than say, one small battle. The thought of his body slow decaying over the course of wretched battle after wretched battle was unpleasant. Then, even worse, he remember the preserved animal specimens Anna-, no, Sauron had kept in his rooms. He wouldn’t have, Celebrimbor told himself. Besides, Sauron was overthrown, so at this point even if there had been some horrifying glass jar with his remains in them, it was surely destroyed now. The thought was less than comforting as he endured the awkward trip to Tol Eressëa.</p><p>His troubles didn’t stop there. The woman at the coffee house he stopped at dropped his mug, and then abruptly sat on the floor once she saw his face.  When he went over to help her, she started shaking. They both apologized at each other for a bit until finally she ran out of the room saying, “I’m sorry, there are just some memories—“</p><p>The man he asked for directions to the district where Coroniel lived answered readily enough. Before Celebrimbor had a chance to leave though, he stopped him and asked, “I’m sorry, do I know you? You look familiar.”</p><p>Celebrimbor cleared his throat. “I’m Celebrimbor, formerly of Eregion.”</p><p>The man started. “Well I… You know the last time I saw… Well… You look much better.”</p><p>Celebrimbor had to laugh at that, although he still felt a little sick. “I should hope so!”</p><p>When he finally made it to Coroniel’s house, he already felt drained, and dreaded the upcoming visit.</p><p>He knocked.</p><p>A small woman opened the door; her dark hair bound up in a turban. She stared. “Celebrimbor!”</p><p>“Hello Coroniel.” He tried for a small, reassuring smile. “It’s been awhile.”</p><p>“Celebrimbor!” She remained standing in the doorway, her dark eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do this,” she said and fled into the house.</p><p>The door remained open and Celebrimbor stood there, unsure of what to do. An elf with frizzy red hair and wearing a boldly patterned gown poked their head out from a room adjacent to the entryway.</p><p>“Did she just leave?”</p><p>“I’m afraid so.”</p><p>“Typical. I told her this would be hard,” they huffed. “Well, come in.”</p><p>Celebrimbor stepped into the house and closed the door. He gave a small bow of greeting.</p><p>“Thanks for the invitation. I’m Celebrimbor.”</p><p>“I know.” They started to walk away. “Come on! At least sit down in the parlor.”</p><p>Celebrimbor followed them into a nearby room. “I’m Mormerilben. Coroniel’s apprentice.” They left the room. Celebrimbor looked around, taking in the interesting mix of art in the room. Along one wall was a mosaic celebrating Coroniel’s Avarin heritage; it was made of small pieces of blue and black glass depicting a stag beneath the moon. Elsewhere in the room she had interesting artwork made out of old pipes, cogs, and scrap metal. He leaned down to examine a tiny statue of a frog.</p><p>From another doorway, there was a faint <em>ahem</em>. Celebrimbor turned and saw Coroniel standing in the doorway.</p><p>“You know this isn’t easy for me either,” he said.</p><p>“I could guess that. I’m sorry.” She walked into the room, and sat down in an oversized chair. Celebrimbor remembered Cori as always moving, tinkering, and sticking her nose into things. Now, she was very still. “After everything, I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. Everything went bad so fast there at the end – we didn’t really say goodbye.”</p><p>Celebrimbor didn’t say anything, but sat down next to her in the same chair and squeezed her hand.</p><p>“I think I didn’t really want to say goodbye, because I knew that you had decided to go down with the city. If I said goodbye, that would be the end. Foolish, I suppose.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Celebrimbor said.</p><p>“Don’t be, you couldn’t have known the ending.”</p><p>“Gil-galad kne—“</p><p>Coroniel hissed and tensed beside him. “And Gil-galad died too and Lindon was destroyed, so really what’s the point? We fought so hard, and for so long, and he died too so what’s the point?”</p><p>They sat together in silence, deep in their own thoughts.</p><p>Coroniel shifted and twisted so that she could look directly at Celebrimbor. “But how are you? You look… at peace.”</p><p>Celebrimbor took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I am, mostly. I don’t think I could have left until I was.”</p><p>“They weren’t keeping you as punishment or some such nonsense?”</p><p>He shook his head. “No, that wasn’t it at all. It took awhile to… collect myself, I think. I believe I also needed to be at peace with others. I was with my father and spoke with him after a fashion; I’m sure of that.”</p><p>“Really! That’s more than I had hoped. For some reason I always pictured the Valar keeping your father and uncles in solitary confinement.”</p><p>Celebrimbor snorted. “Me too actually. But no, I know I was with him, and we communicated somehow. I’m no longer angry with him. I don’t condone his actions of course, but we came to an understanding.”</p><p>Coroniel relaxed. “There was a lot of debate you know. I was in the camp that you were being unjustly confined and would never return. Some of the others thought you would never recover.”</p><p>“I’m glad you all have so much confidence in my resiliency!”</p><p>Coroniel looked at him earnestly. “I don’t think anyone doubts your resiliency. Or at least I don’t.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>She slapped his arm. “But I can’t believe you didn’t try to contact any of us! We had to hear about you through the rumor mill!”</p><p>“Apparently the only thing to do here is gossip.”</p><p>“It’s true,” Coroniel said sadly.</p><p>“But no, I’ve been hesitant to return to the former Gwaith-i-Mírdain. I feel responsible for it all and well, there will be some awkwardness.”</p><p>Coroniel sighed. “You’re right, it is awkward. And not just because the last time any of us saw you, you were naked and didn’t have any eyes.”</p><p>Celebrimbor put his face in his hands. “Oh Valar Cori, you have no idea.” He told her about his many encounters on the way to her home, playing up the humor to lighten the mood. By the end they were laughing and talking; it almost felt like old times.</p><p>Then Cori leaped up. “The cooling system! I wasn’t joking when I said I’ve wanted to show this to you for hundreds of years. Whenever I was mad, or sad, or just in a general malaise, I starting tinkering with it. It is quite out of control,” she said with pride.</p><p>They went into a room adjacent to the house. “Your forge isn’t in a separate building? You must be very confident,” Celebrimbor remarked.</p><p>“I am a genius, wait till you see this.”</p><p>~</p><p>Upon reflection, he should have expected an ambush. Ambush was maybe a little strong for two more elves appearing for dinner, but nonetheless, Celebrimbor was annoyed.</p><p>The ambush occurred while Celebrimbor was thoroughly wedged in between some of the pipes. “And so the change in temperature triggers the pump? So what happens if the temperature drops?”</p><p>Coroniel did not respond, but someone else did. “You returned from the dead and Cori already has you fixing her plumbing? The nerve of some people.”</p><p>Celebrimbor wiggled out from the pipes. “Well Eglerion, if you knew the slightest thing about thermodynamics, maybe I wouldn’t have had to come back to weigh in on this project.”</p><p>Eglerion was a large elf; he filled up any room he went into. Despite his size, he was gentle and dexterous. His craft was needlework — a surprise to most people who only saw his warrior's build. He was also one of the kindest people Celebrimbor knew, and, under normal circumstances, someone who was always welcome.</p><p>Eglerion walked over until he was standing right next to Celebrimbor and smiled down at him. “It’s really good to see you Brim.”</p><p>Celebrimbor was not smiling. “How many people has Cori invited?”</p><p>Eglerion shrugged his massive shoulders. “Probably just me and Bari”</p><p>Celebrimbor closed his eyes. He’d prepared himself today for one person, Coroniel, and every additional interaction felt like it squeezed his heart a little more. He was glad, theoretically, that Eglerion and Baralineth were in Tol Eressëa and safe and happy, but two new people meant navigating more of their shared past, and what happened since then.</p><p>“Can I touch you?” Eglerion asked.</p><p>He kept his eyes closed. “What?”</p><p>“I just, hm, how to say this. It won’t feel real until I touch.”</p><p>He opened his eyes. “Fine.”</p><p>Egg carefully put his hand on Brim’s shoulder. He patted it a few times. “I bet this solves the nightmares.”</p><p>“Glad to be of service.”</p><p>Eglerion was beaming. “I know this is probably a lot, but Valar! We missed you! Really though, if it’s too much I’ll take off.”</p><p>“No, I better get used to it. It’s just already been a long day.”</p><p>“Well! Let’s find Cori.”</p><p>They found Coroniel and helped her get dinner together. As they worked together, cooking some familiar sauces and dressings as Eglerion made flatbread, the conversation began to flow more easily. They mostly chatted about surface level topics, not even touching on their work. Coroniel was in a tiff with her neighbor to the right, Eglerion’s mother had returned, and Celebrimbor told them he was living with Nerdanel.</p><p>Part way through Baralineth showed up. Baralineth was an intense elf, very quiet, with eyes that still shone with the light of the trees. She was one of the few in their circle who was actually older than Celebrimbor. She had followed Maglor across the sea and served him until his disappearance. She had excelled in the crafting of musical instruments, at least back in Valinor before the exile. By the end of the First Age she excelled in killing things. Her slow path back to music had been one of the highlights of Ost-in-Edhil for Celebrimbor, and one of the people he would think about when he needed to remember why the work was all worth it in the end.</p><p>They carried the food outside and ate under the stars on Coroniel’s porch. They finally started talking about their work, and the ideas they were still trying to pursue. They ended up in a debate over a recent piece “Ode to the Spring,” that ran contrary to the traditional rules of seasonal music. Apparently, it so disturbed the first audience that there had been shouting, hissing, and hurled objects. Celebrimbor hadn’t heard the piece, so Baralineth whipped out a recorder and began a rendition, with Coroniel and Eglerion attempting to join in to give a feel for the full orchestral piece. Mormerilben was then pulled in to attempt to demonstrate the dance that was part of the work. Before long, Coroniel was trying to explain how some principles of beauty were immutable, Eglerion was going off on tritones, and Baralineth and Celebrimbor tried to examine the dimensions of music. Mormerilben listened with eager eyes, clearly not typically invited to spend time with Coroniel outside of work.</p><p>On one level, Celebrimbor was enjoying himself. He had missed their wide ranging discussions, their humor, and the way they relished learning and knowledge for its own sake. But there was something missing, and he knew he wasn’t the only one with the feeling.</p><p>The last time they had been able to talk like this with unshadowed minds had been long ages ago, years before the fall of Eregion. He found himself turning at points in the night, expecting a pointed question, or an insightful comment during their discussion, but it was just the five of them.</p><p>Finally Coroniel sighed. “The is wonderful, but I can’t help but feel that this discussion needs a perspective outside of the elven one.”</p><p>“Lofrik would have had a lot to say,” Baralineth said with a frown.</p><p>No one mentioned who else would have had much to add.</p><p>Eglerion looked thoughtful. “I do think we are diminished by not working with mortals any longer. And maybe even more so because we still live in separate neighborhoods. As I walk through the city, I know exactly where the Noldorin neighborhood stops, and Telerin or Sindarin areas begin.” He tore off a chunk of bread. “I hadn’t imagined Aman would be so segregated when I left Middle-Earth.”</p><p>Coroniel shook her head. “Likewise, but I also can’t imagine living in Middle-Earth any longer. I was so exhausted at the end. The thought of rebuilding again filled me like lead. And there had been so much death, and somehow we lost some of our greatest advances again.”</p><p>Baralineth ran her finger along the carvings on her recorder. “I never thought I would want to live in Aman again, but I could not enjoy anything at the end. Music was shrill, food was tasteless, and the sea called. When I realized they would let me return, despite my sins, I had no hesitation.”</p><p>“But there is healing to be found here,” Celebrimbor said quietly.</p><p>Their conversation mellowed then, and they finally began sharing the bittersweet memories of lost friends in a city that was now just scattered stone.</p><p>Coroniel was in the middle of a funny story about some old apprentices of hers and a chemical reaction that was surprising only for the apprentices themselves. “And the whole table, everything on it was blue! And Annatar was right ne—“</p><p>She froze and looked at Celebrimbor. It was the first time one of them had slipped. Celebrimbor was glad his friends had never known the whole of it, but Coroniel at least may have guessed, and they all knew that he and Annatar had been the closest of friends.</p><p>Celebrimbor finished the story. “They were afraid to turn to even see if they had stained the pristine white robes. But they were completely untouched. And he just raised his eyebrow and asked ‘haven’t you ever heard of the Celmaner Reaction?’ and swept out of the room.”</p><p>Eglerion shook his head. “And here I was missing him for a second. That was always the strangest part. I’d be out in some battlefield, surrounded by corpses, thinking to myself how much destruction the Dark Lord had wrought, and how I hated him, and then later, I’d notice something, like the colors of the sunset, and how they somehow seemed more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen before and I’d think ‘Huh, I should ask Annatar about that.’ A split second later I remembered why I’d never ask him anything ever again, but they still seem like two different people.”</p><p>Celebrimbor did not have that same problem. Sauron and Annatar had been painfully blended into one by the end, but they didn’t need to know that. Nor did they need to know that even so, he still missed him.</p><p>Baralineth shook her head. “Come, let’s not end on this dark note. Maybe let’s sing some songs before we retire? Drive away the dark a bit?”</p><p>After they said their goodbyes, Celebrimbor retired to the guest chamber Coroniel had prepared for him. Memories still clung to him like cobwebs. He sat on the bed in his room. He had always had a great deal of control over his thoughts, which had served him well over the years. He could purposefully choose a road of memory to go down, or a problem to solve, and most of the time his mind would leap to his chosen subject. When he returned to the memory or thought that had disturbed him earlier, he often found that his detour resulted in clarity around the problem and maybe even a solution. He lay back on the bed and decided he had avoided this particular path long enough.</p><p>He remembered all the times he had returned to his rooms after a late dinner with friends in Ost-in-Edhil. Annatar would be at his desk reading or writing by candlelight. He would say something sarcastic, maybe ribbing Eglerion for his latest choice of subject, maybe making fun of Celebrimbor himself for being tired out by just talking.</p><p>Maybe it was one of those times when he would have asked Annatar what he was reading, and Annatar would explain how the text shed a light on the workings of Song and Craft, all the while undoing Celebrimbor’s robes with the lightest touch, a gleam in his eyes. And Celebrimbor would have sat up to reach a hand to his face and asked if that meant they needed to remake their latest creation, and his robes would have slid off and Annatar would have murmured into his mouth ‘we have so much yet to make,’ and then he would lose himself in the kiss. Then Annatar would move down, leaving small nips that felt like fire, and then he’d slowly lick his cock, concentrating so hard on the way he pulsed and swelled. Then Annatar would take him in his mouth, slowly sinking down, now staring into Celebrimbor’s face as if he was trying to catalogue twitch and reaction, moving too slowly to bring him off, but clearly savoring every moment.</p><p>Or maybe it was that last night, when they’d been working as one for weeks on the plan for the Five, and he already couldn’t tell where his mind ended and Annatar’s began. Among piles of papers, ingots of precious metals, and scattered tools, they stood kissing each other. They had been playing and flirting for a year now, both exploring what a physical relationship could look like, something new for Celebrimbor despite his many years. It had been new for Annatar as well; he hadn’t invested himself in a particular corporeal form so thoroughly before, and Celebrimbor lived for the times when he caught his cool exterior breaking, surprised at unexpected pleasure.</p><p>This night was different; they both could feel it. Annatar broke the kiss. “You know, there are many myths about what physical acts create a bond for the Eldar. In fact, many believe that it is entirely based on cultural beliefs, and in fact there are no—“</p><p>“Do you not want this?”</p><p>“I want this. Do you?”</p><p>“Yes,” Celebrimbor breathed, and lost himself in the kiss.</p><p>In his bed, Annatar had opened him up so slowly and carefully, his fingers brushing inside him and sending pulses of pleasure through his whole body.</p><p>Then Celebrimbor grasped Annatar’s cock, stroking until he felt his breathing deepen and his eyes squeeze shut.</p><p>When Annatar pushed into him, still so unbearably slow, their eyes were locked together. Celebrimbor saw passion, love, and fear in those golden depths. His breath shuddered and he moved his hips to meet Annatar’s. They held for a second, Annatar’s hips flush against his own, marveling in the feeling of fullness. Then he began to move, slowly at first, but building to a steady rhythm. Celebrimbor hooked a leg over Annatar’s back, and there was the perfect angle. With every thrust Annatar was hitting the spot of pleasure within him.</p><p>Annatar was saying something to him in a language he didn’t understand, but felt like buzzing vibrations of power penetrating him to his core. Celebrimbor didn’t have the words he needed, but instead opened his mind, letting the passion and love he felt wash over them both.</p><p>It was as if a veil was slipping off of Annatar’s form, and the brightness of him seemed to fill the dim room. In his mind, Celebrimbor saw his being in all its facets, and he realized no matter how close he had thought they were before, parts had been hidden until now. He saw gold sparks in the darkest void, rippling crimson, and a maw filled with teeth. As he felt the pressure build inside him, his mind remained lost within Annatar’s, taking in a flickering sunset, and interlocking patterns of gold, twisting to infinity. Annatar reached down to stroke Celebrimbor; it only took a few strokes, and his orgasm was cresting over him. Annatar’s hips lost their rhythm, and he cried out as he came.</p><p>Later that night, Celebrimbor had entered Annatar, and that had been just as wonderful. Even though he had expected the spiritual aspect this time, he still marveled at the mingled light and dark he saw. There was brightness shot through with void, and gold eyes in the dark, ready to devour; then multi-colored flames swirling as Annatar came to pieces beneath him, hands caught in his hair, lips and teeth marking his neck and chest.</p><p>That night Celebrimbor thought even Annatar had slept for a time. He had no proof though, being wakened by Annatar’s mouth on his cock.</p><p>Afterwards, Annatar had gazed into his eyes with wonder. “Now you know, and yet you still love me.”</p><p>Celebrimbor had had no idea. “Of course,” Celebrimbor had said distractedly, stroking a lock of electrum hair against gold skin.</p><p>Annatar had lifted himself onto his elbows, frowning at him. “Can’t you tell? I could see all the colors of your soul.” His face softened and he brushed his fingers along Celebrimbor’s cheek.</p><p>What if he stopped here? And just went back to the night they met, serious smith and mysterious teacher, nothing between them but curiosity? Celebrimbor chose to continue down the path of memory he was on, knowing that for all its circles, time can’t be reversed.</p><p>“I knew there was darkness in you. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” Celebrimbor had smiled at him.</p><p>Annatar had sat up then, looking unhappier than the gentle jab had warranted. “Perhaps now, we should speak plainly.” They should probably have spoken plainly before then.</p><p>Celebrimbor also sat up, matching his seriousness. “I had guessed before; you are not in good standing with the Valar.”</p><p>“That would be an understatement.”</p><p>He thought it had been pride that brought those words. He had seen his soul, and it did not seem like something of evil, darkness not withstanding.</p><p>Annatar looked at him, and carefully said, “I was a servant of Morgoth’s.”</p><p>Celebrimbor had just stared at him. For once, his mind didn’t leap forward in its usual manner. He didn’t know, but maybe he knew he didn’t want to know.</p><p>“Some have said greatest servant.” Annatar’s face, which had been an open book minutes ago, now had a guarded expression.</p><p>“I was first known as Mairon, but that was not what your kindred called me.”</p><p>When Orodreth had fled to Nargothrond, he had not lost the haunted look on his face for years. He told Celebrimbor that those who had not escaped with him were like hooks in his soul, and for a long time after those who crept to what was now Tol-in-Gaurhoth feared seeing the tormented remains of former friends just as much as the werewolves that hunted there.</p><p>And when the tale of Finrod’s death had come, Celebrimbor had been filled with fury, that even the brightest and best of them had been taken away. If he had held Finrod’s death against his father, how could he not hold the actual killer responsible?</p><p>“Sauron.” He felt as if someone else was holding this conversation, and he was reading the story.</p><p>Annatar, or rather Sauron, had tensed at the name, something dark behind his eyes. “Brim, I have never pretended to not have made mistakes. The past taints us all.”</p><p>“Mistakes! My cousins, my uncles, my people.” Celebrimbor put his hands over his face. “Orcs, werewolves, vampires, all manner of fell thing we can trace to you!”</p><p>Sauron reached out his hand. “My mistake was trying to improve upon what already was. With you, I know we can make anew. You’ve shown me how to make things of beauty and not just use.”</p><p>Celebrimbor stared at him in astonishment. Hundreds, maybe thousands of years of misshaping and twisting, leaving torment and death in his wake, all summed up into mistaken utility? He looked at the hand on his leg. “Don’t touch me. Leave.”</p><p>Annatar started back. “Leave?” his face darkened. “I’m no less a part of you then you are of me. You can’t be rid of me so easily.”</p><p>“Nevertheless. Leave. I have no interest in any more lies.”</p><p>“I never lied to—“</p><p>“Servant of Aulë? You ceased to serve him before any Quendi set foot in Aman.”</p><p>“And you show me now why I could never have told the truth. I thought you better than this.”</p><p>Celebrimbor still wasn’t angry, that would come later. All he could feel was faint surprise, and a creeping sickness. “LEAVE.”</p><p>Sauron left.</p><p>In the spare room in Coroniel’s house, Celebrimbor closed his eyes, knowing that it would be a long time until sleep found him tonight.</p><p>~</p><p>He woke with the awareness that someone else was sitting on the bed. He slowly opened his eyes.</p><p>“Finally! You’re up.” Coroniel was already fully dressed and ready for the day. She had her hair half up and pinned using wooden hair ornaments today – a distinctly Avarin hairstyle. “Didn’t sleep well?”</p><p>Celebrimbor pulled himself up to lean against the headboard. “No, I didn’t get much sleep.”</p><p>Coroniel looked at his bare chest closely. “It’s weird that you don’t have any scars.”</p><p>Celebrimbor looked down at himself. “I can’t imagine the Valar would be so cruel as to leave you with your physical scars from your previous life. I think I’d just look like some horrifying lump.”</p><p>“I’m not talking about that! It’s just, you don’t even have your scars from the First Age.” She laid her palm flat on his shoulder. Her hand still had the pink twisted tissue of old burns. “It’s just strange.” She shook her head a bit and looked up. “Well, rise and shine – I have a whole day planned for us.”</p><p>“What? Don’t you need more help with the cooling system?”</p><p>“Brim, I am an expert in my field and furthermore, have been tinkering with that flawless feat of cooling for centuries – I certainly don’t need your help with it.” Coroniel crossed her arms. “Come on, I at least want to show you my favorite coffee house. I know you can’t get good coffee on the mainland.”</p><p>Celebrimbor sighed. “OK, let me get dressed.”</p><p>After he was dressed they headed out. He was afraid of a repeat of yesterday, but walking along with Coroniel there were fewer stares. As he strode down the street, he reflected that this felt like any number of mornings in Gondolin or Ost-in-Edhil, Coroniel’s quick steps pattering beside him as they chatted about inconsequential things.</p><p>When they arrived at the coffee house, Celebrimbor saw why it was Coroniel’s favorite. Unlike most of the buildings, the interior was warm wood, and there were racks of wines for sale throughout the ground floor. A spiral staircase led up to a small upper floor. The scent of coffee and pastry wafted out. It reminded him a great deal of their favorite coffee house in Ost-in-Edhil. The shop there had had more space to eat outdoors, and had also been decorated with tapestries patterned with dwarvish designs, but the feel of shop was the same.</p><p>As they sat down with their coffee, the owner stopped by with two pastries. “I know you don’t remember me, but it’s good to see you again.”</p><p>Celebrimbor studied her face, and then broke into a smile. “Tinniel! Of course I remember you. You and your husband had the restaurant down in the second district.”</p><p>“You’ve been missed.” Tinniel smiled back. “I’ll leave you to breakfast.”</p><p>Coroniel was looking smug across the table.</p><p>“I don’t know what you think you’re proving, but it’s not going to work.” Celebrimbor took a sip of coffee.</p><p>“I have no agenda.” Coroniel switched the pastries in front of them, and took a bite.</p><p>“So, where are you dragging me next?”</p><p>“Teithril has an exhibit at the Avallónë Art Gallery; I thought we could drop by.”</p><p>Celebrimbor sighed. “Fine, we can go to the art gallery. Teithril always was very talented.”</p><p>“It will be fun!”</p><p>After they finished their breakfast, they headed back out into the bright, breezy morning. Avallónë was a beautiful seaside city; the scent of the ocean was strong and gulls circled overhead.</p><p>“How are you liking living so close to the sea?” Celebrimbor asked.</p><p>“Oh, it’s fine. You know I’m not one for beaches, sunshine, and sailing.”</p><p>“So why stay here?”</p><p>Coroniel shrugged. “This is where most of us who fled during the Second Age ended up. It’s nice living among people who know something of where you came from.”</p><p>They had arrived at the gallery. Celebrimbor stopped short.</p><p>“Descendants of Finwë in Middle Earth? Cori, what are we going to see?”</p><p>Coroniel actually looked a little a guilty. “It’s not bad, I think you’ll like it. Besides, it’s Teithril!”</p><p>“Cori, is there a painting of me in there?”</p><p>“Yes – but we’re only going to look at one!”</p><p>“You’re saying there are many paintings of me in there.” Celebrimbor looked darkly at the ornate building.</p><p>“Well, they aren’t all paintings.” At Celebrimbor’s alarmed glance she hastily added, “But really, we can avoid them all!”</p><p>He sighed. “I’m really not comfortable with this.”</p><p>Coroniel took his elbow. “Come on, I wouldn’t bring you here if I didn’t think you’d appreciate it.” He gave her a skeptical look. “I promise.”</p><p>“Fine.” They walked into the foyer.</p><p>Once inside, Coroniel led them through a few galleries. They stopped to look at an exhibit of Tree Era armor. Celebrimbor examined one of the breastplates on display. The plaque said it was crafted by Fëanor.</p><p>“I think this is actually my father’s work,” he whispered to Coroniel.</p><p>“You could cause a great deal of angst among the curators here. That would greatly decrease the value.”</p><p>When they arrived at the gallery with the Descendants of Finwë exhibit, Celebrimbor steeled himself for a moment before stepping in.</p><p>Inside the walls were lined with dark oil paintings. He started at the painting of his grandfather.</p><p>Teithril had managed to capture his likeness well, despite never seeing him in person. Fëanor was staring off in the distance, looking appropriately dire. The background was a dull red glow.</p><p>“How did I do?” Celebrimbor turned, and saw Teithril standing there, her round blue eyes fixed on him intently.</p><p>“It’s quite accurate actually. It looks very much like him.”</p><p>“Instead of going off of other works, I interviewed those who knew him. The rest I based off of you.” She wrapped her arm around him and squeezed. “It’s good to see you again. I won’t hover – find me after you’re done.”</p><p>Celebrimbor continued to wander through the gallery, gazing at the stern faces of his family. They were all beautifully painted, but he was surprised at the solemn subject and traditional styling. Teithril had been known for her bright light sketches, although she had once done a shocking series of landscapes using blood, mud, and viscera. He stopped in front of a portrait of Finrod. Again, the likeness was striking, but the somber expression did not fit with his memories.</p><p>Coroniel found him. “Ready for the next room?”</p><p>“There’s another room?”</p><p>“Get ready for the Second Age.”</p><p>The second room was brighter, and there were only three portraits. The first was of Gil-galad. Unlike the portraits in the previous room, Gil-galad had been painted with someone else. He and Elrond were engaged in a conversation – Gil-galad was standing, leaning against a pillar and gazing at Elrond with fond amusement. Elrond was sitting waving a quill in the air, trying to persuade Gil-galad of some point.</p><p>Celebrimbor had to smile. “Now this truly captures Gil-galad, and Elrond for that matter.”</p><p>Coroniel was smiling as well. “I think she had the king actually sit for this portrait. Teithril – was it his idea or yours to include Elrond?” she asked Teithril who had just walked into the room.</p><p>“Oh his, definitely.” Teithril said with a laugh. “I knew I wanted the Second Age portraits to be more naturalistic, but he gave me the idea to have a second person in the painting.”</p><p>The next painting was of Galadriel. She was on horseback and lightly armored. Her hair was unbound, and streamed out in gold ribbons behind her. She was gesturing to her daughter, Celebrían, who was also on horseback next to her. Celebrían was sitting up in the saddle, craning to see what her mother was pointing at. Celebrimbor recognized the bright, curious expression on her face from when he had known her as an elfling.</p><p>Looking at Galadriel and Celebrían, something in his chest tightened. “Do you know if she is well?”</p><p>Teithril nodded. “When I left Middle-Earth, Galadriel dwelt in the Golden Wood still. Celebrían is married to Elrond – and they have twins!”</p><p>Celebrimbor smiled. “I can see her as a doting grandmother.” He gazed at the painting for a while longer, remembering riding with her himself, as they explored the lands around Ost-in-Edhil.</p><p>When they stopped in front of the last painting, he laughed aloud. As he feared, it was a painting of him, but next to him was Narvi. They were both standing, framed by a doorway, wearing their forge clothes. Celebrimbor had a streak of soot on his cheek. He appeared to be telling a joke to Narvi, who was laughing uproariously.</p><p>“You snuck a dwarf into a gallery of Elven lords!” He was delighted.</p><p>“I knew you’d love it!” Coroniel crowed.</p><p>“This painting is highly controversial,” Teithril said with pride. “Some are offended by the addition of a dwarf, they seem to be under some impression that it’s meant as an insult to the House of Finwë. The others are offended on your behalf; they think the casual aspect is meant as a jab. I have had many people say I am disrespecting a great hero of the Second Age.”</p><p>“Disrespect all you like! This is glorious!” He studied Narvi. He could almost hear Narvi’s booming laugh from the picture. Unlike with the painting of Galadriel, he only felt warmth when he looked at Narvi. He knew he rested with his fathers and had died peacefully, acclaimed among dwarves and elves for his work.</p><p>After chatting with Teithril a bit longer, Coroniel and Celebrimbor left the gallery. Coroniel led them to a walking path by the seaside and they slowed to a stroll.</p><p>“Thank you for taking me to see Teithril’s work – you were right, it was worth it.”</p><p>“I knew you’d love it. When I saw the painting of you and Narvi when she unveiled it last year, I couldn’t stop crying – I think Eglerion had to drag me into a corner. I thought I was done crying over you, but Teithril managed to capture something in that painting that reminded me of the peak of Ost-in-Edhil, and it just made the loss so much sharper.”</p><p>Celebrimbor sighed. “We never will be able to achieve something like Ost-in-Edhil again. You know a great deal of its power was in our friendship with Narvi’s folk and the Atani who came to us.”</p><p>Coroniel looked troubled. “I know, but does that mean we shouldn’t try?”</p><p>They stopped and stood off to one side, gazing over the ocean. “Cori, I don’t know what you expect me to do. Besides, Gil-galad rules here, and I know you like and respect him.”</p><p>“Yes of course, but there’s also a council of Lords who have a hand in governing Tol Eressëa.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And most of them are Valinor born and so holy and serene and <em>soft</em>,” complained Cori. “They don’t know what it’s like to have to build a whole life for yourself from the ground up – multiple times! And they care nothing for craft, or trying new things. See this path we’re on right now? For a month out of the year it’s covered in water. I wrote up a proposal to fix the drainage system and build some retention ponds, but I’m sure it’s still just gathering dust on a desk somewhere.”</p><p>“Why don’t you try to joining the council yourself?” he asked.</p><p>“Brim dear, I have no family name, no charm, and I hate being in charge of anything other than apprentices. You on the other hand…”</p><p>“I also have no wish to be in charge of anything other than myself at this time.”</p><p>“But you were so good at ruling!”</p><p>“Until I embraced a Maiar who destroyed the city and killed almost everyone in it.”</p><p>“That wasn’t your fault! You know as well as I that there was no way he was planning that all from the start.”</p><p>“Yes, well, the point remains that I disliked ruling then, and I don’t want to start down that path again.”</p><p>Coroniel crossed her arms. “So what are you going to do?”</p><p>“I don’t know – maybe all the things I never had a chance to do in my previous life. I never traveled just to see new places – when I traveled I was always fleeing from one place to another.” He paused to consider all the many things he hadn’t done. “I’m learning sculpture you know. I never learned a musical instrument. Maybe I could date someone.”</p><p>Coroniel raised her eyebrows. “You want to casually date someone?”</p><p>“Maybe; do people still do that in Valinor? Have someone they go out and share a meal with and then are physically intimate with afterwards?”</p><p>“Physically intimate? Valar, Brim.” Coroniel was struggling not to smile. “And yes they do, at least in Tol Eressëa. Who knows about the mainland.” She rolled her eyes.</p><p>“I really can’t see you as an amorous wandering minstrel who occasionally sculpts, but,” here she held up a hand to hold off Celebrimbor’s protests, “I know I’ll never be able to persuade you to do something you’re set against.”</p><p>Celebrimbor sighed. “Really Coroniel, I’m just not ready to start something like that. Maybe talk to me in a century or so.”</p><p>Coroniel shook her head. “I doubt you’ll have changed your mind by then – you always hated the administrative parts of being a lord, and I’m pretty sure here it’s all administrative parts.” She looked up at him. “Will you at least consider living in Avallónë? I’ve missed you.”</p><p>Celebrimbor looked over the city. “I don’t know, I was quite happy with Nerdanel, and there are so many reminders of my past here.”</p><p>Coroniel looked resigned. “Well, let’s try to make your visit here count. Come, there’s a place a short walk away that sells brandy that’s almost as good as Nelrem’s.”</p><p>~</p><p>Celebrimbor made his way back to Nerdanel’s house about a month later. His trip had been enlightening and he was glad in the end he had visited many of his old friends on Tol Eressëa. Some had escaped the destruction of Eregion, and traveled to Valinor at the end of the Second Age. A few, like Eglerion, had died during the Second Age and were now returned. Many more were still gone. Another person who was definitely gone was Lord Celebrimbor of Eregion, Master of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Coroniel was not the only one pressing him to stay. Many of his friends seemed to be itching for some sort return of a Fëanorion guild and had encouraged him to move to Tol Eressëa. When he had visited Gil-galad, he even seemed to drop hints in that direction.</p><p>As he walked along the street, Celebrimbor reflected that he was sympathetic to their concerns, but the thought still left him cold. When building Eregion and Ost-in-Edhil he had relished the challenge, and taken pride in reestablishing the House of Fëanor in Middle Earth. It had seemed worth the discomfort he felt with taking up leadership, and the constant drain that working with others in that capacity caused. Reestablishing the House of Fëanor in Aman was something different altogether. He also still had the creeping feeling that the doom of his family wasn’t done with him yet. He had tried to shake it off when he rejected his father, and then again when starting anew in the Second Age. Now though, he wasn’t so sure he could escape from the shadow. Maybe he’d been doomed all along and had lead the Gwaith-i-Mírdain right along with him.</p><p>He opened the door to his home, and then froze. He heard a shriek from the kitchen. With a hand on the knife he still wore, he ran softly towards the kitchen, memories hunting the many monsters in the dark woods of Middle Earth swiftly returning. Hugging the wall, he peered into the kitchen. Nerdanel was bent over, clutching the counter, struggling to breath.</p><p>“And then, as we were walking back home, he was still there mournfully singing about the thick, piercing, sword of Finwë, completely straight faced!”</p><p>Nerdanel wheezed, “stop, no please!” tears of laughter streamed down her face.</p><p>A woman with long dark hair was in the kitchen as well. Her brown eyes snapped with life, and she had an expressive mouth with thin lips. Her face was fast to light up in a smile, although it wasn’t always a kind smile.</p><p>“Amil,” Celebrimbor said.</p><p>“Tyelpë!” Ornéliel exclaimed.</p><p>Celebrimbor crossed his arms across his chest. “I thought I was ‘no more a son’ of yours?”</p><p>Ornéliel had started forward, but stopped a few feet away. “The fire of my heart was young?” she tried.</p><p>Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows, “that line was for Ñolofinwë and his children.”</p><p>“The power of poetry is that it speaks to many hearts.”</p><p>“I thought that was the problem, the kindling of our hearts through words.”</p><p>Ornéliel sighed. “Please, can we start over? I regret my rejection of you, although not my choice to stay in Aman, and I wish to hold my son again.”</p><p>Celebrimbor let his arms drop. “Alright.” He stepped forward, and they embraced for the first time in millennia, across ages of banishment, war, peace, and death.</p><p> Ornéliel’s lighthearted aspect crumbled, and she clutched him to her chest. She fit her chin over his shoulder and murmured, “I have missed you so much.”</p><p>Celebrimbor finally released her shoulders and placed his hands on either side of her face. He smiled warmly. “If I have let go of any grudge against Father, I certainly can’t hold one against you.” He looked over at Nerdanel. “But I don’t think I’m the only one you’ve spurned!”</p><p>Nerdanel laughed. “Don’t worry! She’s been here a whole day. I got my apology, and we have cleared the air. Tell me, how was your trip?”</p><p>“It was good, I suppose. I was glad, in the end, to see my friends. I think the worst part is that I am a bit more famous than I had guessed. Or maybe it’s infamy?” He leaned against the kitchen wall, suddenly feeling the exhaustion that had been building from a month of attempting to be someone more like Celebrimbor, Lord of lost Ost-in-Edhil and head of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.</p><p>“That sounds like my nightmare,” Nerdanel remarked. “Go get some rest! Ornéliel and I were going to make some food. You can tell us more over dinner.”</p><p>~</p><p>Celebrimbor woke a few hours later, no longer tired, but still with a feeling of fragility in the back of his mind. He had heard from one of his friends in Tol Eressëa that it was generally recommended that those who returned take a measured approach to meeting companions of their previous life. He doubted a month of trying to greet the exiles of an entire city and then one’s estranged mother was considered a measured approach.</p><p>He put on a comfortable linen tunic and soft leggings – he wasn’t going to dress up for a mother who showed up after ages of separation unannounced. He walked into the living room and saw that Nerdanel and Ornéliel had chosen to eat in there, sitting on cushions on the floor. They had clearly already started in on the wine. The sun had set, and the soft light of lamps and starlight from open windows lighted the room. He sat down on the floor between them.</p><p>“Feeling better?” Nerdanel asked as she started filling his plate with red sauce with goat cheese, bread, and roasted vegetables.</p><p>“Moderately.” Ornéliel raised an eyebrow at that and grabbed him a wine glass, filling it almost to the brim. “So it’s going to be one of those evenings?” he commented.</p><p>Nerdanel filled up her wine glass as well. “Through my many years on this earth and accumulated wisdom, I have found that wine can help when words are hard.”</p><p>“Ah! Such great wisdom!” Ornéliel smirked. Nerdanel rolled her eyes in reply.</p><p>“Come now Tyelpë, tell us a bit more about Tol Eressëa. Are you leaving us to take up lordship there?” Nerdanel asked.</p><p>“Ah no, I think I need a bit more time being accustom to life before opening that can of worms.” Celebrimbor told them of his visit, the projects his friends were embarking on, the difficulties of adapting to life in Aman, and their attempts at healing their accumulated wounds of mind and body.</p><p>“I am not surprised they look to you for leadership,” Nerdanel commented when Celebrimbor had finished. “I think there are many Noldor who are tired of living in the shadow of the past. It was not long after Fëanor left that whispers began that maybe the Valar had been too harsh with Noldor, and we were being punished for growing too great.”</p><p>“’Whispers,’” said Ornéliel with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>“I had no such concerns!” Nerdanel set her glass down firmly. Then, more quietly, “at least not at first.”</p><p>Nerdanel looked at Celebrimbor with muted fire in her eyes. “You know, when you first showed up, for a second I thought he was back. And I felt joy.”</p><p>“I don’t know what I would do if Curufinwë showed up,” Ornéliel said pensively. “Probably punch him. And then jump him.” She had a far off look in her eyes, and a wicked smile.</p><p>Nerdanel had a fond look on her face. “In a way I’m still angry because I still miss him. I miss creating with him; I miss making love.”</p><p>“Oh no.” Celebrimbor looked with growing horror between his mother and grandmother. “This is not a conversation I need to be part of.”</p><p>It was clearly already too late; Nerdanel and Ornéliel had started down a path of nostalgia and there was no turning back. His mother fondly tugged on his braid, preventing an escape. “Oh, and you’re so pretty too! It was never fair how pretty Curvo was. You must have broken as many hearts as he did back when we were young.”</p><p>Celebrimbor delayed responding by finishing his wine. “Well, I was always more focused on—“</p><p>Nerdanel interrupted, now staring unfocused out the window. “To have alignment in spirit and craft and body. There is truly nothing better. To know the colors of your beloved’s soul! To feel as if nothing was impossible, so long as you had the other!”</p><p>Celebrimbor stared fixedly at his wine glass, remembering the colors of his love’s soul.</p><p>Ornéliel sloshed her wine as she gestured. “There is nothing like sex with your bonded mate. Now, Tyelpë, you have probably experienced the joys of the body by this point in your life.”</p><p>Celebrimbor flopped back on the floor, giving in to the inevitability of the conversation. At least eye contact was avoidable.</p><p>“But that is nothing compared to lying with one whom you’ve bonded with! It’s like the difference between an ordinary blade and a blade interwoven with the power of Song.” Ornéliel sighed. “I had wished that you could find that joy Tyelpë.”</p><p>Celebrimbor felt like the room was spinning more than it should be for the amount of wine he had drunk. “Well, I actua—“</p><p>Nerdanel seemed to come to her senses. “Oh Tyelpë I’m sorry! This isn’t the conversation you wanted to have with us.”</p><p>It was too late; Ornéliel was staring fixedly at Celebrimbor. “I knew it!”</p><p>“Knew what?” Nerdanel asked with concern.</p><p>“You’re bonded to someone, aren’t you? I knew it!”</p><p>“You knew no such thing!” Nerdanel sounded more indignant than was strictly necessary.</p><p>“I could see it.”</p><p>Nerdanel gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s a myth. But Tyelpë, that’s wonderful! Who is she?”</p><p>“Well, he, actua—“</p><p>“I <em>knew</em> it.”</p><p>“You did not!” Nerdanel exclaimed. “I don’t know where you’re get—“</p><p>“Please.” Celebrimbor said tightly. “I’d rather not.”</p><p>Nerdanel at least seemed to realize that Celebrimbor was not matching the lighthearted banter that they’d fallen into. “Oh Tyelpë, of course; you’ve been parted. Do you know where he is?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Ornéliel nudged his foot. “It can’t be as bad as all that. Your husband at least isn’t doomed to the Everlasting Darkness.”</p><p>Celebrimbor did not respond to that.</p><p>“You know, there are lots of ways to find out about those still in Middle Earth. I never tried myself, but my friend said—“</p><p>“It was real. It is real,” Celebrimbor said softly. “No matter what happened after.”</p><p>“Of course. I believe you.” Ornéliel rested her hand on his knee. She looked at him with growing concern.</p><p>Celebrimbor didn’t know where to start. He realized he hadn’t spoken of this, really, to anyone. The closest he came to it was probably with Galadriel, but she had somehow known already.</p><p>“He left the next day.”</p><p>Nerdanel sounded distressed. “Oh Tyelpë.”</p><p>“No, I had told him to leave.” He had looked so heartbroken at first, but then growing rage followed. Celebrimbor hadn’t been afraid yet. That didn’t come until later, after the forging of the One. He had just been angry, disbelieving, and heartbroken himself.</p><p>“What had he done?” Ornéliel asked. There were worse people he could be telling this story to for the first time. These women at least understood that sometimes you have to part, even if you love him.</p><p>“He lied about who he was. Hundreds of years of lying.” Celebrimbor laughed bitterly. “And the worst part is I didn’t even realize after we bonded. I was still just so happy – it seemed miraculous.”</p><p>“Oh no,” said Nerdanel, dawning understanding in her face. She stood up, walked over to a nearby shelf and grabbed a piece of clay. She sat back down on the ground and started to knead and shape it with jerky motions.</p><p>Ornéliel looked at her with increasing worry. “Can you just tell me?”</p><p>Celebrimbor was still staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t fair to them either – he was not fully at peace, but he had come to terms with his life as it was. For Nerdanel and Ornéliel it was another cursed thing that happened to their endlessly cursed and forever broken family. “It’s Sauron.”</p><p>Ornéliel stilled. “No.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“But he killed you.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“My friend, I made her tell me, it wasn’t really fair, but I had to know. I couldn’t imagine…” she drifted off.</p><p>Celebrimbor thought about trying to comfort her, but felt like he couldn’t move, hypnotized by the blank expanse of the ceiling. Besides, she probably needed to be angry.</p><p>Ornéliel began to laugh. It wasn’t her ready, musical laugh that often sprang out of her. This laugh was percussive and dry, almost an uncontrolled cough. “You surpass your parents in all ways! I thought knowing your love was doomed to the Void was the worst that could happen. You must always prove me wrong!”</p><p>“It was long ago. I’m more than what happened to me.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I need to take some air.” Ornéliel swiftly stood up. She hovered for a moment, clenching and unclenching her fists. Then she walked out of the house.</p><p>Nerdanel was no longer shaping the clay with violent motions. Now she was focused on smoothing the faces of the sculpture in front of her. “Do you think it’s over?” she asked.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The curse on our family. The darkness that I sometimes feel holds me closer than anyone has ever held me before. Even in Aman”</p><p>“I don’t know. I wonder the same thing myself.”</p><p>Celebrimbor sat up. “You know, when I said the end does not negate what we achieved, I really meant it. In the halls, I cast my mind back endlessly to see if there was another step I could have taken that didn’t end in so much death, but every one I could identify I could not imagine choosing.” He looked steadily and Nerdanel. “The only person’s actions you can choose are your own, and I have no regrets there.”</p><p>Nerdanel met his gaze. “I’ve come to the same conclusion myself.”</p><p>She stood up and carefully placed her sculpture on the table. It was a jagged thing – two twisting spiky columns that seemed to be shattering at the bottom and the top. She then sat down next to Celebrimbor and held him. They remained that way for a long time before going to bed.</p><p>~</p><p>Celebrimbor woke at sunrise the next day. As he sat on the edge of his bed he had the surprising realization that he felt fine. He’d slept well, and woke feeling refreshed.</p><p>He walked into the kitchen where he saw Nerdanel writing at the table. Ornéliel stood behind her, apparently supervising. She looked up when he came in, uncharacteristic concern on her face. She walked over to him. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>He kissed her on the cheek and smiled. “I feel well.”</p><p>When she saw that he told the truth, she lit up with a smile. “It seems I find this a great deal more distressing than either of you!”</p><p>“Well, it was very distressing at the time, but I’ve had a while to reconcile myself to the past.”</p><p>Ornéliel looked at him sharply, but seeing his face held no trace of mockery just shook her head.</p><p>Nerdanel looked up. “I’ve been thinking about doom.”</p><p>“A dark way to start off a bright morning.”</p><p>She aimed a half-hearted swat towards him. “I’ve worked alone too long. I think I’ve felt, however foolish, that there was a taint on me still, and joining in craft with another would be inviting trouble. So! I’m compiling the list of people I’d like to join me.”</p><p>Celebrimbor felt a spark leap up in the back of his mind. “The guild of Nerdanel?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>“I don’t know if we need to call it that.”</p><p>Ornéliel tapped her on the shoulder. “You should add Culinion to your list. He wrote that amazing text on botany. You remember? The treatise on light with plants, comparing the effects of Laurelin, Telperion, the sun, and the moon?”</p><p>“Of course! That will mesh nicely with our focus on light and light sources.”</p><p>“Light sources.” Celebrimbor raised both eyebrows now. “That sounds like a dangerous line of research. What would the Valar say?”</p><p>“What they don’t know can’t hurt them,” Nerdanel said at the same time as Ornéliel tossed out, “They can shove it then.”</p><p>Celebrimbor drummed his fingers on the table. “I was hesitant to start anything myself, but if you’d like, I have several friends who might be interest.”</p><p>“Yes! I was going to ask you for those you would recommend!” Nerdanel’s face was bright.</p><p>“What led you down this path?” Celebrimbor thought he had an idea, but wanted to hear what his grandmother had to say.</p><p>“I’ve lived too long in fear. Our family has suffered enough! If there is still any doom and lingering darkness than it is unjust. The only way I see of shaking off the fear of the past is creating something new.”</p><p>Celebrimbor was nodding. Starting something himself was out of the question, but following his brilliant grandmother appealed to him.</p><p>“I’ll write to Coroniel.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Haruni - Grandmother (Qenya)<br/>Amil - mother (Quenya)<br/>Atani -the Second Folk, an Elvish name of Mortal Men, the Second-born of Ilúvatar. (Quenya)</p><p>Thanks to everyone who left comments!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fingon II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fingon moves in with Aredhel. Turgon and Elenwë visit. Turgon will absolutely recommend a contractor for any of your home improvement needs.<br/>Or, many conversations happen.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for some non-graphic discussions of domestic violence and abusive relationships.<br/>Fingon - Findekáno (Finno)<br/>Aredhel - Írissë (Rissë)<br/>Turgon - Turukáno (Turo)<br/>Celebrimbor (Brim) - Tyelperinquar (Tyelpë)<br/>Maedhros - Nelyafinwë<br/>Maeglin - Lómion</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As soon as Fingon moved into Írissë’s halls, he knew she had been right. Surrounded by the mountains, lakes, and woods he felt more grounded than he’d felt in Alqualondë. It reminded him of Himring, which wasn’t a bad thing at all. And if his thoughts drifted into darkness, there was much to be said about driving them out by running up a mountain or swimming across an icy lake. Írissë had named her halls Árëmar, or dwelling of sunlight, for she had dwelt in twilight for long enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She and Fingon had plenty of work that needed to get done. There was still building to do and repairs to make. It was midsummer, and they were determined to put up enough food to last the winter. They hunted frequently, and gathered nuts, roots and berries from the woods. This was not strictly necessary, but they both had fond memories of living out under the stars and were enjoying the challenge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon also quickly realized Írissë wanted to get away from Tirion for more reasons than she had mentioned that night at Below the Village. Early on, she introduced him to a friend of hers, Berengwen, a green elf with hair the color of bone. She still wore the traditional face and body markings of the Laiquendi, and appeared to be wearing all leather. Fingon was immediately suspicious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Berengwen lived with them occasionally, although most of the time she lived with a local band of wood-elves. There were four other elves who lived full time at Árëmar, all who had been members of Írissë’s household for a long time. There was Dolon and his wife Gwedhril, both Avari who had died during the First Age and had since been reincarnated in Aman. Shortly after Írissë had returned, she had hired them to manage her household, knowing they would be able to provide some tether to what she missed from Beleriand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The third member, Gaildor, was a Sindarin elf who had sailed at the end of the First Age. He had horrible scars, and was missing part of his nose and ear. He never talked about his past and Írissë didn’t ask. All that mattered to her was that he was a skilled builder, and capable of fixing anything that was broken in her halls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Fingon had met the last member of Irisse’s household, he recognized her immediately. “Astien! I can’t believe you agreed to come here after all Írissë has put you through.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Findekáno! As if you weren’t almost as bad!” She held out her arms. Fingon ran up and embraced his old nurse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spent the rest of the day catching up. Astien had lived with Anairë after the Noldor left Aman, and had witnessed the slow return of each member of her family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Once you returned, I felt like it was maybe time for a change of scenery. When Írissë invited me to come with her, it seemed like the perfect opportunity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon, Írissë, and Berengwen went hunting in the first few weeks after he came to Árëmar. The hunt was successful and they celebrated by roasting the deer they had slain and breaking into some of the wine Fingolfin and Anairë had sent as a house-warming gift. Afterwards they lounged by the fire, a proper huge roaring hearth that was not necessary right now, but would be much appreciated in a few months. Írissë sat on one of the chairs as Fingon and Berengwen played bones on the floor. After Berengwen trounced Fingon for the third time, he threw his hands up in despair. “Berengwen, you will ruin me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think of it as just deserts for Noldor imperialism.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To the end of Noldor imperialism!” Fingon drained his glass. “I’ll get more wine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he was walking back in the room, he stopped in the doorway. Berengwen was sitting on the ground leaning against Írissë’s legs in deep conversation with her. Her hand was slowly moving up Írissë’s leg as they spoke. She undid the laces of Írissë’s leggings, and pressed the heel of her palm into her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon quietly left, taking the long way round to his room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While it was still summer, Turgon and Elenwë visited, managing to travel with only a small company of seven others of their household. It was probably the lightest Turgon had traveled since their early expeditions in Beleriand, Fingon reflected. Their family found Írissë’s desire to live in the mountains miles away from the nearest village perplexing, and he was sure his mother and father had held many worried conversations about whether or not she was trying to recreate her time with Eöl. Their concern about Fingon was stated more plainly. Aunt Lalwen had asked if he was feeling stable enough to live away from the city and his family; apparently recently returned had been known to wander in the woods, vanishing for days, lost in memories of the past.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m perfectly stable! I’ve been out of Mandos for over a </span>
  <em>
    <span>yen</span>
  </em>
  <span> at this point. And I’ll be with Írissë,” Fingon had said indignantly. Lalwen gave him a look, which clearly said what she thought of Írissë’s care. But his family was only concerned, and did not seek to prevent them from moving to Árëmar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Turgon rode into the courtyard, he looked around with an appraising eye. “Írissë! You’ve built a fine steading here.” He dismounted and looked around for a groom. Fingon walked up to take the horse himself. All the elves who weren't there to greet Turgon and Elenwë were frantically trying to find and prepare space for nine additional guests.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How was the journey?” Fingon asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well enough,” Elenwë said, dismounting. “There’s a section of the road just west of here that was washed out. It took some maneuvering, but we overcame the obstacle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turgon grabbed his horse’s reins back from Fingon when he realized there wasn’t anyone else to help stable her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sister, it seems like there’s still more building to do. I don’t see a single fountain!” Turgon smirked at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry my halls aren’t up to your standards, oh great builder of the Noldor!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am teasing; you appear to have begun quite well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They worked together to stable the horses. Fingon and Írissë had been building frantically since they had had word from Turgon that he planned to visit, knowing they’d need to erect some temporary shelter for the additional horse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the horses were seen to, Irisse took them on a tour of the hall and nearby grounds. Currently, there was more cleared space than was needed for the hall and few surrounding buildings. In short order she showed them the smithy, the summer kitchen, and the bathhouse, before leading them into the main building. The house was built around a main hall, which could be used for many purposes. Now there were several hastily constructed tables pushed together to give everyone space to eat together, but it could easily be converted to space for a party, large or small. The main feature was a huge fireplace at the far end. There was a kitchen to one side, and the rooms where Dolon and Gwedhril lived at the other. Behind the main hall was a study, and then stairs led up to where Fingon and Írissë had their rooms. There were also three additional bedrooms upstairs. With some sharing and the use of storage rooms off the kitchen, space was made for all. The house was designed in the typical Valinorean way to be easily expanded, but Írissë did not plan to do so for some time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elenwë exclaimed over the house, and Turgon grudgingly admired the fine structure, while still nit-picking at some details. They had a large dinner that night, with roasted duck, spreads and jams made from the local nuts and berries, and several fine cheeses purchased from the closest village. After dinner, they made plans for the following week, Fingon and Írissë marking on a hand drawn map all the trails, lakes, waterfalls, and overlooks they wanted to show their brother and sister-in-law.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turgon and Elenwë had come with many books from Tirion. They brought some classics Fingon had missed over the years, and some of the latest histories. On one of the days it rained, they decided to take a break from their active pursuits and spend the day writing letters, playing music, and reading.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon’s musical skills were rusty. He hadn’t taken the harp up since his return, but as he tried some simple tunes he remembered how enjoyable making music was. Before long, he and Elenwë were attempting a new composition out of Valimar that was among the sheets of music she had brought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë and Turgon were by the fire, reading some of the books Turgon had brought. Suddenly Írissë smacked the book she was reading down on the table. “Really Turo, how can you read this garbage?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon and Elenwë stopped their practice and looked over at the siblings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turgon tilted his head to read the title of the book. “I really don’t think its garbage. Writing down customs and culture is important! If not for the written record, we may not be aware of the shifts of behavior over time among the Eldar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë still looked angry. “Did you know that this text uses my marriage as an example of ‘extreme marital strife’ and then spends several pages trying to decide what on earth could have caused such an un-elven disharmony between </span>
  <em>
    <span>neri</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>nissi</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turgon looked unhappy. “I did not know that Rissë, and if I had I would not have purchased the book.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë was not done. “And the idea that my experience is so unheard of is also, if I may say so, bullshit. Even in Valinor, I have been approached by several elves that have experienced violence brought on them by their own spouse! Because we deem it to be so ‘un-elven’ we do not speak of such things, which leads those who suffer in such relationships to believe themselves to be blighted in some way, and hide their sorrows and pains.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turgon was very serious. “If it is as you say, this is a grievous thing. Is there something I could do to help those in such wounded relationships?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë shook her head, her anger leaving her as suddenly as it came. “I have no answers. Indeed, it was partially because of my helplessness that I wanted to escape Tirion. It was a burden to be the sole example of a violent marriage. You know, I’m not the only one who has been slain by their spouse. All we could do was speak of our anger and commiserate over our loneliness, for we still miss our spouses sometimes, despite it all.” She now just looked sad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elenwë sat down next to her and hugged her. “Oh my dear, we had no idea that you bore such a burden. I would do what I could to lift it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Elenwë, you couldn’t have known, because I did my best to hide it. Talking about my problems has never been a skill of mine – I tend to let them fester.” Írissë tried a small smile. “But now you know a large part of why Fingon and I prefer the company of trees and wild animals to civilization!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fingon!” Elenwë said in surprise. “Did Nelyafinwë—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no,” Fingon quickly jumped in. “My story is not as sad as that! But still, his later actions grieved me, and many times remembering my bond is not a happy thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s still very sad,” said Írissë seriously. “I honestly don’t know if I would change places with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were all quiet for a moment. Then Turgon said thoughtfully, “from your story Rissë, it seems like a small thing to help would be to connect those who suffered as you did with a kind ear and a place to go. I do not think that would be so hard to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë smiled. “And that is why you are a wonderful king, despite how I tease you! You hear the tragic story of a sister, and seek to find a way to make it better for all sisters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turgon returned the smile as he reached from some paper and a quill. “How else could I help, Rissë?” He seemed to be ready to take notes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, if you’re writing things down, if you could make it easier for those of us who are estranged from our spouses for whatever reason to find someone to share in the pleasures of the body, that would not go amiss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turgon looked hurt. “I am being serious!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So am I!” returned Írissë. “It’s so hard to meet someone when everyone presumes you’re off limits! And of course the societal disapproval doesn’t help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here here!” said Fingon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elenwë looked surprised. “So have you both found others to…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have casual dalliances with?” finished Fingon helpfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, that.” Elenwë’s surprise morphed into intrigue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, many,” Írissë said while at the same time Fingon said, “No, sadly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë looked innocent while Fingon gave her a teasing look. “You know, she got me up here with the promise of a club. Some club! So far it’s only me, her, and Berengwen. And maybe Gaildor – we really don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know Berengwen would be open to something with the both of us. She mentioned as much to me one night. The green elves have different customs than ours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turgon and Elenwe were both starting to look a little scandalized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon wrinkled his nose. “We’re close, but not that close. I can’t think of a way that works without entirely too much eye contact.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë considered for a moment. “Hm, I believe you’re right. I didn’t give much thought to logistics.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never forget the logistics,” said Turgon faintly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you haven’t exactly put yourself out there Finno. You dress like a monk, you did nothing but work for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>yen</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and now you’ve moved to a remote mountain hall,” Írissë pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon laughed. “Too true! I have no one to blame myself. But here, Turo, if you’re so bent on helping, send up any good-looking elves you find who could join our sad band.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The week passed quickly, filled with riding, hunting, fishing, swimming and sports. Fingon was afraid it might be going too well, and Turgon would announce an abdication of his responsibilities in Tirion and move in another seven members of his house by the end of the week. He joked as much by the fire one evening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m tempted!” Turgon exclaimed. “But no, I enjoy the pattern of my days in Tirion, and there are still many who look to me for leadership. There is much work to do between the former exiled Noldor and those who stayed, and Arafinwë needs me to help bridge the many divides among our people. Speaking of! Have I told you my latest headache?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elenwë sighed; she clearly knew what Turgon was going to complain about, and had probably had to hear it several times over on the way up to Árëmar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Fingon and Írissë shook their heads, Turgon continued, “Recently, there have been an unusually large number of elves moving to Lothengriol, an ancient village outside of Tirion. The local leaders complained to me, because apparently many of them were from Middle-Earth: some former Exiles, others were born there. The town elders thought there wasn’t enough space, the newcomers were loud, they were ruining the character of the village, and so forth; you know, the usual drivel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought I’d pay the village a visit, and you will never guess who started this whole stir.” Turgon stopped, an expectant look on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turo, they really have no idea,” Elenwë said with exasperation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Írissë might know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I definitely don’t know,” said Fingon. “Tell me, who is the trouble maker?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nerdanel! Apparently she’s starting some sort of artists’ guild.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon felt a stab of guilt. He had meant to see Nerdanel sometime, but still hadn’t brought himself to visit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did she not have the proper permits?” Aredhel asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t start on that,” Turgon complained. “The permitting system in Gondolin was very important! I don’t love bureaucracy for its own sake.” At this, Elenwë gave him a sidelong look.  “Gondolin was a city with limited space, so a careful planning was needed to keep it well run and beautiful. But no, Rissë, she didn’t need any permits and had cleared her plans at an earlier point with the city elders. The tension was just because her conclave is growing faster than they anticipated, and they hadn’t imagined it would include so many disreputable Exiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Also, I was surprised to see Tyelperinquar there! I had heard he had returned, but I assumed he was on Tol Eressëa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Young Tyelpë! How is he?” Fingon asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Young!” Elenwë snorted. “The sages debate how to measure age for those of us who dwelt a time in Mandos, but in my estimation he has more experience on Arda than you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s well, and not making anything remotely dangerous as far as I could tell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was that a concern?” Aredhel raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only a slight concern! You can’t be too careful.” Turgon shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what’s the headache?” Aredhel asked. “Nerdanel and Tyelpë seem to be behaving themselves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I smoothed things over a bit between the town council and Nerdanel, and vouched for everyone that despite his resemblance to Fëanáro, Tyelpë probably isn’t creating the next set of Silmarils, but the town really isn’t built for a guild of that size, and I don’t have a solution yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turgon paused, and with a smoothness that anyone besides his siblings would not have found suspicious, added, “Speaking of craft, have you considered hiring someone to help with the decorating here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë glared at him. “I think we’re doing just fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turgon put up a mollifying hand. “It’s a great start! But image carven beams, some more tapestries maybe along this wall, and those huge doors are just calling out for embellishment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no desire to create the splendor of Gondolin anew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’m not suggesting that! I’m just saying a few added details will make this a proper Noldorin home, fit to host Ingwë himself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me guess, I should invite Nerdanel up here to help with those details.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s a great craftswoman.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon frowned. “It would feel ill to invite her up here for business after so long an estrangement.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well not Nerdanel then. Tyelpë would also be a great choice. He did some excellent work for me in Gondolin. And if you know of any good sites that they could maybe build upon…” Turgon let the sentence drift off with a look at his sister.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll think about it,” Írissë said firmly, and changed the subject to the latest litter of puppies Elenwë’s favorite hound had whelped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gah, he’s right you know.” It had been several days since Elenwë, Turgon, and their retinue had left, with many promises to visit again. Fingon, Írissë, and the rest of the inhabitants had managed to put the hall back together, and now Fingon was taking what he believed to be a well-earned day of rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë was also supposed to be resting. Instead she was pacing around, occasionally writing something down. “I built this place not just for an escape, but to truly have my own home that reflected my heritage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon knew there was something she wasn’t saying, and decided now was the time to mention it. “A home that you would be proud to have your son return to?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Írissë gave him an unhappy look. “First we lived in a home where the Noldor were maligned, and our lives were lived in opposition to the light I grew up worshipping, and all the bright and beautiful things we treasured were cast as frivolous. Eöl was a master smith, but his designs were dark and alien to me. Of course, I did not live very long with Lómion in Gondolin, and Gondolin was a Noldorin as they come! But eventually Gondolin was a beautiful cage to me, and I believe it was the same for him too after a time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She straightened up, with a look on her face that reminded Fingon of the fierce sister who crossed the Helcaraxë with him. “But I believe that the two can be blended – the wildness I’ve always loved with the beauty of the Noldor!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon smiled. “I’m sure Lómion would be happy to live in a hut with you should he return. But your vision gladdens me! We had planned to expand the stables first, but maybe if we had additional hands we would not need to do only one thing at a time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, that’s my thought. I hate to give Turgon the satisfaction, but sending to the Nerdanelië is a good idea. So much the better if they can give the place a bit of the Fëanorian flair. Whatever else is said – the Fëanorians had style.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was decided that Írissë would write to Celebrimbor, asking him to visit and assess the work to be done. She had rewrite the letter several times to balance the tone; it was easy to sound too cold, which wouldn’t do when writing to a kinsman, but it was equally hard not to sound too familiar, and she hadn’t seen Celebrimbor since before Gondolin’s founding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon and Írissë only had a few days to prepare for Celebrimbor’s arrival when they received his polite response and intention to visit. They got their mail from the closest town, which was still over twenty miles away, so the letter had been waiting for several days before they received it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fortunately, it seemed he was only bringing himself, and in some ways would be much easier to prepare for than Turgon and Elenwë. In other ways, it was much harder, for Írissë had not seen him since after the Dagor Aglareb, and did not know him well. Fingon was not much help either, he had seen Celebrimbor several times over the years of the long peace when he visited the sons of Fëanor, but his memories were hazy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was often reading when I saw him. And he was quiet, at least compared to his father and uncles.” Fingon tapped a finger on the table trying to recall more details.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that’s not saying much!” Írissë snorted. “He’s probably going to think we are complete uncultured animals.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that’s why we’re inviting him, isn’t it? To make the place less rustic?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë ignored him, rifling through the music, plays, and literature Turgon and Elenwe had brought with them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should practice the harp some more; that was hard to listen to the other day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Fingon said sarcastically. “Your skills on the other hand leave me speechless. Besides, I never read he was one for music.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but to be honest I haven’t followed the events of Middle Earth too closely. He died before the Númenorians invaded I think. He had a realm over the Blue Mountains somewhere, there was something about crafting rings, and he had a very messy death.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I always wanted to explore over the Blue Mountains.” Fingon’s gaze was unfocused, as he remembered those exciting days when so much was unexplored, and hope of victory against Morgoth seemed possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great. So we can quiz him on geography, and then compare our tragic demises.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peace sister! I’m sure it will be fine. His letter was as well spoken as you could ask for.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë looked skeptical, but at least she didn’t bother Fingon with any more questions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Celebrimbor arrived, Fingon momentarily considered pretending he hadn’t seen him from the house, and quickly changing his clothes. He was wearing a plain white shirt over simple leggings, and had a dark blue tunic over all; incidentally a very similar color to the one Fingon was wearing. The only difference was the star of Fëanor embroidered over his heart. To Fingon’s greater annoyance, he also had his hair braided in a single, loose braid, and no jewelry – highly unusual for Noldor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë was out gathering some food that she had at the last minute decided was needed for dinner, so there was nothing to be done but go down and greet his cousin, who apparently had developed the same fashion sense as him across millennia of separation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he strode into the courtyard, he called, “Greetings Celebrimbor! Let me help you with your horse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he walked up to him, he took a closer look.  Celebrimbor had matured in the way of elves since he had last seen him. He bore no markings of age, but there was wisdom in his eyes and he seemed more confident than he remembered. His dark hair had a silvery undertone that set it apart from Fingon’s own hair, which was really more of a dark brown. His eyes were grey, and though they no longer shone with the light of the trees, they were still bright and steady. His face held the same sharp beauty of Fëanor’s as well, but was missing the luminescent, unsettling quality that Fingon remembered of Fëanor</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well met, King Fingon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no, just Fingon! If anyone rules here it is my sister, although she will also probably correct you if you call her Lady Írissë.” Fingon led his horse to the stables, and helped unload the few belongings and saddle Celebrimbor had brought with him. When they had finished there was an awkward silence and Fingon remembered Írissë’s comment that all they’d have to speak of was geography and death. Better start with geography.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he had a chance to say something clumsy about the Blue Mountains, Celebrimbor laughed self deprecatingly. “I’m sorry, but I really haven’t found a good way to start conversations with my relatives who I’ve been thinking of as dead for longer than I remember them living! It was much the same with Turgon, and we at least knew each other from Gondolin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon smiled. “That’s alright then. I’m still learning myself – it’s why I left the letter to my sister. But come; let’s not start in the past. I heard you and Aunt Nerdanel are starting trouble!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor shook his head. “You craft a few objects of power, and all of a sudden you’re branded a disturber of the peace. And I haven’t even invited any of my chemist friends yet. If the people of Lothengriol think it’s bad now, wait until we have some of their louder experiments underway.” With that the ice was broken and they began to talk of Nerdanel’s guild, and the projects they had begun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later that evening, they were truly at ease after a satisfying dinner and a bottle of wine. They were now comfortable enough to talk about their shared past, although they hadn’t been bold enough to reminisce beyond Valinor during the Time of the Trees. Írissë’s fears of having nothing to talk about were completely unfounded, for Celebrimbor had many interests, and seemed to know something about just about everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Currently, they were exploring his interest in systems of writing. Írissë had a piece of chalk and was writing in large, cramped characters on the wall. “Now! Can you read them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was spoken to Celebrimbor, who was upside down on a chair, his feet over the back, and his shoulders and head hanging down. He was laughing as he tried to read the characters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed I can. It's just Tengwar for the most part written upside down, although you style it in a narrow fashion that makes it harder to read.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just Tengwar!” Fingon exclaimed. “Why, it was our secret code!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure why it’s necessary to read it upside down. Surely you could just flip the piece of paper you were reading over?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just flip the—“ Fingon sputtered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not thinking of the overall purpose of the writing!” Írissë was animated. “We needed it to share messages our parents wouldn’t read, so sticking them behind a chair, or in a hidden corner was preferable to leaving an obvious location. Also – you forget the important aspect of skill – as someone who can decode a secret message while doing a handstand is clearly of superior quality to someone who cannot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah of course! Context is always important when learning a new language or mode of writing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Silly Noldor babies.” Berengwen shook her head. “Everything I learn about your childhood explains so much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then tell us your childhood!” Írissë said. “Maybe the story of the time you created musical instruments from the bones of orcs. Or the giant spider you kept as a pet, until she ate your brother’s dog.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor slid down so his back was on the floor, his legs still on the chair. “You sound just like the Laegrim I knew in the Havens of Sirion!  No matter how many stories of Balrogs, orcs, and dragons I told them, they still thought those of us born in Aman quite soft.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are soft,” Berengwen said with smirk, reaching to squeeze Írissë’s breast. Írissë didn’t stop her, but instead tweaked Berengwen’s nipple, which soon devolved into a wrestling match on the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get a room!” Fingon shot a glance over to Celebrimbor, who fortunately just seemed amused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t want to join?” Berengwen waggled her eyebrows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not with my sister.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fingon the Vain! I was talking to your handsome cousin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m quite comfortable here, thanks.” Celebrimbor was grinning. Fingon realized he’d never seen him smile that wide – he’d always seemed so serious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Berengwen stood up and tugged Írissë along with her. “Have fun boys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon watched Berengwen and Írissë exit the room towards the stairs. “I hope you’re not offended.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve had less tactful propositions. Not many, but a few.” Celebrimbor was still smiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both sat quietly in front of the fire for a minute. “You know,” started Fingon. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your manner of dress.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My manner of dress? It’s nothing special.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly that! The style right now is bright colors, ruffles, and those piercings that attach at multiple points of the ear.” He thought for a moment. “And embroidery, preferably from precious metals.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor, now sitting up right on the floor, gave him a look. “You’re wearing none of those things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, we’re dressed so alike it looks like we planned it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor’s expression was considered. “I lived in many places, and followed many fashions over the years. In Eregion, I probably wore the most adornments of any point in my life. Not out of vanity – or at least not just out of vanity. But we delighted in making beautiful things, and giving them to each other as gifts. It was a great pleasure to look at all the beautiful pieces friends and colleagues had given, and select which ones to wear on your person.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused to take a sip of wine. “I don’t avoid all, or even most memories of Ost-in-Edhil, but for some reason, jewelry makes me sad. Maybe it’s remembering all those I lost – for the lack of gifted pieces would make me think of that. I don’t feel that way when smithing, or doing many of the other things I loved and associate with Ost-in-Edhil.” He set down his glass. “Now your turn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon looked at him with a wry smile. “I don’t have as considered a response as you. I always loved jewelry, and I definitely was vain in my youth. Now, I find I just don’t care. Give me a closet full of the same thing and a necklace with my family crest and it seems much easier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Makes it easier to pack as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes, you must be tired after your trip here! We can retire.” Fingon felt awkward for a moment, worried that Celebrimbor would think he was propositioning him as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor just smiled. “I am a bit tired. Goodnight Fingon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next day Írissë showed him the house and grounds, showing where work was needed. There were the doors of course, but also lamps, and improvements to their forge. The largest project though was the great porch. It was built off the back of the house and had a beautiful overlook into the mountains. Currently though, it was just a rock shelf, bare of any decorations, railings, furniture, or lighting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she showed him the porch, Celebrimbor was silent for a long moment. “Ost-in-Edhil was right along the mountains. This reminds me of the view from my own rooms.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë glanced at him, not sure if this was a good or bad memory. Celebrimbor gave no indication, and after a moment went back to taking measurements and discussing design with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That evening, they had their dinner out on the porch, watching the early autumn sunset as they ate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They chatted about everything and nothing as the stars slowly came out. Something about the stars and the mountain air made the night seem timeless. The three of them drifted into silence, all under different stars and among different mountains in their minds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brim?” Írissë asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were tortured to death in a really awful way, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Celebrimbor looked at her in disbelief, jolted out a pleasant memory of Ost-in-Edhil.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë seemed to suddenly realized that this was not a great topic for your cousin who was currently only on the second day of his visit to your remote mountain hall. Fingon glared at her. Írissë ploughed on anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I just. Well. I’d heard that those who go like that don’t usually return.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor was silent for a moment. “I think it’s different for everyone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë sighed. “I suppose so. I’m sorry, that was not a kind thing to bring up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not particularly, but I have many tactless friends.” He glanced at her. “I worked with your son in Gondolin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë was no longer looking out over the mountains and was now hunched forward, tracing patterns onto the stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor continued, “He was very clever, and made advances in weaponry at a speed I have never seen before or after. I wish we could have worked together more, but he was busy, being the head of a house. “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I supposed he was quite busy then,” Írissë said darkly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor sat up straighter and sought Aredhel’s gaze. “Listen, I don’t know what your impressions were after leaving Mandos, but I have some experience with doing things that have unintended consequences. And I also have a family with a great deal of doom hanging over us. My leaving had no contingency on the unintended results of my actions, nor the number of people out there who held a grudge against me. I only left when I was at peace with myself, and desired to look forward and not back.” He paused, troubled. “I said that with intent to comfort, but I don’t know if it will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon realized there were tears on his face. He wasn’t thinking of himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë exhaled. It sounded shaky, and her face was bleak and shining in the starlight, but she was looking up now. “I have wondered myself how I can be at peace knowing what happened, and the ways I contributed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon slid over and embraced Írissë. “Sister, you were not meant to dwell under the wings of the shadow. You are high hearted, and valiant, and beautiful, and not meant to be burdened under regrets for things you could not control and now cannot change. Maeglin would not want a sad shade for a mother, and if he returns he would be glad to see the life you live.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë wiped her eyes on his shoulder, then took her sleeve and brushed away the tear tracks on his face. “Go get your harp Fingon. Let’s make some new starlit memories.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few days in, Celebrimbor broached the topic Írissë at least had been expecting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, Lord Turgon seemed to think you had space to spare.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë narrowed her eyes. “So I gathered. No one asked me if I wanted a bunch of artists and craftsmen wandering around and getting underfoot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor put up his hands. “I’m happy with where we are. I just owe your brother to at least bring it up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m joking! Mostly. I actually have given it some thought. I don’t have space here,” she gestured at the immediate grounds, “for an undetermined number of Nerdanelië, but ride with me and I can show you the other spots I was scouting when I first thought of building.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor and Írissë rode off, and were gone for the whole day. When they sat down to dinner with Fingon later, he found them suspiciously chummy, still deep in conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the surface, they seemed to have opposing personalities. Írissë was like a morning sunbeam bouncing through the window, never lighting on one thing too heavily. Celebrimbor seemed more like a steady, blue flame: intense and focused. Despite their contrasting natures, they seemed to be forming a fast friendship. Fingon wasn’t sure why that bothered him; Írissë had always been charming, able to quickly befriend anyone she chose. It wasn’t like her friendships prevented Fingon from forming his own. Maybe, he reflected, it was just because he was still lonely, and it seemed a little unfair that Celebrimbor seemed closer to Írissë than him already. He shook it off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, do we have some new neighbors in the near future?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll see.” Celebrimbor said mysteriously. Then he laughed. “No, there’s no secret. I saw some good spots, but I’ll need to talk to Nerdanel and the other guild members to see what they think. The location might be too remote, but on the other hand, we’re fairly close to the largest shipping route for ore, so it might not be too bad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Írissë, you’re alright with having your remote refuge invaded by a bunch of artists and scientists?” Fingon asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All the spots are still a few miles away – I’m not too worried.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon was surprised – she’d expressed irritation to him with Turgon’s meddling after his visit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides! We’ll be able take advantage of their expertise and create the most beautiful mountain hall in all of Aman,” Irisse continued.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t tell Oromë if you won’t,” Fingon said lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Better not.” She turned to Celebrimbor. “What were you saying about possible materials for the railings, Brim?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor picked up right where they had left off. “Oh yes. I actually recommend a different alloy for the porch versus the stairs indoors. We can keep the same appearance for both, but the material will wear better in their respective environments.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor continued explaining about chemical properties, alloys, and other metallurgical considerations while Írissë seemed to hang on every word. Fingon was astonished – since she was a child Írissë had been disinterested in most scholarly topics. He remembered their parents using a mix of bribes and threats to get her to sit down and learn history, math, music, reading, and the other subjects a princess of the Noldor should know. Maybe the halls of waiting had changed her, but he was doubtful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next day saw them eating breakfast together, discussing how to use Celebrimbor’s last few days at Árëmar. Celebrimbor planned to spend the day making what improvements he could to their forge, and he sent Fingon and Írissë on separate errands to get materials. While there were some projects he wanted to enlist other guild members for, and he wanted some hard to get materials and different tools for the door, he could start on the porch and some other details around the house during this first trip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon returned later with some raw materials for Celebrimbor, food, and the mail. There was an invitation to celebrate the harvest with the Arafinwions at the behest of Angrod, a letter for him and Írissë each from Anairë, and a letter from Turgon for Írissë. After dinner, they set up at the desk and table in the study. Celebrimbor and Fingon were sitting next to each other at the table – Celebrimbor was sketching designs for the porch and Fingon was revising his rough map of the surrounding area to something more accurate. Írissë was at the desk, writing and responding to letters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she started on Turgon’s letter, she burst out laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turgon regrets to inform us that he has found no handsome elves to join our sad club.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s too bad – I was so looking forward to my brother picking out my next lay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it.” Fingon realized his cheeks were heating up despite the relatively innocent comment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turgon has already brought the matter of violence between partners to Arafinwë. He approved his initial plans for a support system, and is seeking for those who can provide council or safe haven. He’s asking if I have any people I’d recommend.” Írissë pulled out a sheet of paper for her response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s wonderful,” Fingon said with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now that I put this idea into his head, I’m beginning feeling like I should be a bit more involved.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure Turgon would welcome any help you would offer, but I hope you don’t feel burdened by this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë tapped a quill thoughtfully against her chin. “I feel like there are other parts to it I still need to express. I’ll write them in a letter, but I still think I should go to Tirion and speak myself. It won’t be as bad knowing that I have Árëmar to escape to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What other parts?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë frowned. “The worst part of Nan Elmoth wasn’t that Eöl was sometimes violent, although he was. The worst part was how isolated I was, and how I had no one to turn to except for him. I think that can be very damaging to a soul, although it would not show a mark.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That would be good to point out,” Celebrimbor agreed. “Maybe it would also be worth mentioning some signs of trouble as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes! Like wanting a say in all parts of your life – not letting you have interests outside of him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or that obsessive attention is not actually a good thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë gave a short laugh. “Although it can be very flattering to have someone who’s so powerful and intelligent wanting to spend every waking moment with you, it’s actually not a good sign.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon watched the exchange surprised. “You seem to know from experience, Brim.” He realized quickly he was overstepping. “But no need to talk about bad memories!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor smiled ruefully. “No, it’s alright. We seem to be sharing quite a lot anyway. Do you put something in the wine?” asked Írissë.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed. “No, of course not.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment, deciding whether or not to broach the subject. “I may have been closer to Annat—Sauron than is commonly known.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Aredhel dropped her quill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean, you and he—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the worst thing I ever heard!” She was delighted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The worst? That’s an exaggeration.” Celebrimbor gave her a reproving look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, what’s worse?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor thought for a second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See! You can’t think of anything.” Írissë was laughing “Oh, I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Túrin Turambar!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe! Debatable. Nienor didn’t kill him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But she was his sister. I at least am very certain that Sauron is not in my immediate family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, but still –being comparable to Túrin I think proves my point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fair.” Celebrimbor was smiling, and as far as Fingon could tell it was genuine. He was feeling a little queasy himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry.” Írissë endeavored to get herself under control. “I just never met someone who had worse taste in men than I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Glad to be of service.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope he was pretty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beautiful. Actually glowed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were doomed! I always told your father to beware shiny things – they were always the downfall of Fëanorians.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If only he passed along your wisdom. Fingon, are you alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon was sitting completely still, gripping his quill tightly, as if ready to use it to stab something. Startled, he looked at Celebrimbor. “What. No, I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Celebrimbor placed his hand on his leg, “No, I’m sorry, I’ve had a very long time to get used to the horror of it all.” He looked over Írissë. “I never thought I’d find someone to laugh about it with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Glad to be of service!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fingon,” Celebrimbor said softly. “Look at me. I’m all right. So is Írissë.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon met his gaze. “I know. I just.” He sighed. “I can’t imagine. It’s my worst nightmare.” What he meant was, ‘I can imagine; it is my worst nightmare.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So don’t. Enough time has been spent in grief – it was a long time ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you love him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you love him still?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s complicated.” He was still looking steadily at Fingon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon dropped his gaze. “I understand. Maybe not completely, but.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor sat back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon felt awkward, Celebrimbor and his sister shouldn’t need to comfort him when he was not the one who suffered. He cleared his throat, and tried to lighten the moment. “Well Írissë, it seems we’ve found a new member despite Turgon’s failure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë gave him a sharp look, but decided to play along. “Yes, we’ll have to induct you Brim.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor looked between them. “Induct me? I’m particular about the organizations I join.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s very exclusive,” Írissë said with a smile, transparently trying to take the need to move the conversation forward away from Fingon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, maybe I’ll have to consider it then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The working name is the evil ex-boyfriend’s club.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows. “If that’s the case, I expect a leadership position.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Normally, you have to enter as a novice, but I think you can skip all the inductee processes and just start as a master.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon tried a smile; it felt almost real. “Írissë, you seemed to have developed quite a few additional rules since you invited me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t let just anyone in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well!” Celebrimbor set his hands on the table. “I think we’ve all learned a lot about each other tonight. I’m going to go out to the porch to flesh out the last details of this sketch.” He leaned closer to Fingon for a moment, suddenly serious. “Don’t think you’ve escaped discussing your membership.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon raised an eyebrow. “And you’re already taking charge!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor started packing up his drawing tools. “I just think we might have some things to talk about. Considering your particular ex.” With that he walked out of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon and Írissë were quiet for a moment. “He’s nothing like I thought he’d be. He looks like his father, but shares very little of his temperament,” Irisse said thoughtfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I think he most reminds me of Nerdanel.” Fingon realized he wasn’t going to get anything else done on his map this evening. “Excuse me, but I think I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon lay awake in bed for a long time before he fell asleep. His mind flashed between tragedies that happened and tragedies that could have been. He remembered drifting past tapestry after tapestry in Mandos, half knowing before he saw the next one what would be depicted, as if history were a ball rolling downhill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day after that conversation, Celebrimbor returned to Lothengriol with many promises to return soon with additional help. Fingon and Celebrimbor never did have a conversation about Maedhros; Fingon was both relieved and disappointed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon was surprised by how much he felt Celebrimbor’s absence. This in turn, just made him more irritable. He was tense, and no amount of running, swimming, hunting, or building was enough to distract him from the feeling of restlessness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One evening at dinner, Írissë lost it. She slapped the knife he’d been tapping thoughtlessly on the table. “Fingon, what in the Void is wrong with you? You’ve been so fidgety.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” He started tapping the knife again. Írissë glared at him, and he slowly set it down. “Maybe it’s that I don’t have enough structure. For a whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>yen</span>
  </em>
  <span> I just went wherever I was sent, now I have to plan each day myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh really, that’s it – your unstructured life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Fingon was nodding, slowly convincing himself he’d found the problem. “That must be it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to get laid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon glared at her. “That’s always what you think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No think about it – when have you not had an outlet before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All the time!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not since you returned. Before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Again, all the time!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No – you were obsessed with Maedhros since before I was born.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But we were never together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you talking about? Other than when Father and Uncle Fëanar were in their tiff—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tiff?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was so stupid, I can’t believe we spent all that time fighting just because two brothers couldn’t deal not being their father’s favorite. We’ve always done just fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon jumped on the change of topic. “What! You were clearly the favorite – ask Turgon. You got away with shit that would have gotten us locked in our rooms for a week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not the point. The point is you have always had Mae, and if you weren’t planning your next visit, you were actually visiting, or you were writing dirty letters about what happened last time you visited.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know about the letters?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Irisse gestured dismissively. “Just a couple. Maedhros is a good writer. I could have done with less about your cock, but you could just pretend it was about someone else for the most part.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon was gripping his knife and angrily tapping it again. “Why are we even having this conversation?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’m so sick of you pacing about. When I invited you here I thought you’d find your Berengwen in no time – you’ve always been handsome and charming. What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Fingon glared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Speaking of – I’m going to Tirion in a few days. I don’t mind if you and Berengwen—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with Berengwen? She’s beautiful and fun!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing wrong with Berengwen, I just don’t want someone you’re pity lending to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Berengwen thinks you’re very good looking and has a thing for Noldor – it wouldn’t be pity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon threw up his hands. “What if I think I prefer men?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t tell Turgon that detail.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I hadn’t thought about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’ve thought about it since?” Írissë was starting to look sly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you on about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, we need to find you a man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know why this is a team activity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m your sister – I want you to be happy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m very happy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you say so.” Írissë grabbed a roll, and started tearing off small pieces and popping them in her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon glared into his wine, then finished his glass with a gulp and made to stand up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about Brim.” Írissë gave him a sidelong glance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about Brim?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, he has that gorgeous Fëanorian bone structure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you sleep with him then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have sworn off smiths.” Írissë gave him a significant look. “Besides, I don’t think I’m his type.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think I’m his type either. For one I don’t glow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come now, that’s not fair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon sighed. “No it’s not. I just don’t think he was interested, Rissë.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’m just saying that I could see it – and then I wouldn’t have to deal with your fidgeting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to everyone who commented! You are quite literally an inspiration :)</p>
<p>Good Lord, when I started this I did not think I'd need so many OCs, nor did I think I'd actually have to make up Elvish words.</p>
<p>Árëmar – Dwelling of sunlight. From árë - Q. noun. day, sunlight, sunlight, warmth (especially of the sun) and már - Q. noun. dwelling, habitation, home, dwelling, habitation (like Eldamar)<br/>Nerdanelië - People of Nerdanel. Using lië - Q. people (like Eldalië)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Celebrimbor II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The elven home improvement crew get to work.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fingon - Findekáno (Finno)<br/>Aredhel - Írissë (Rissë)<br/>Celebrimbor (Brim) - Tyelperinquar (Tyelpë)<br/>Maedhros - Russandol, Maitimo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I think if during the next trip I take Cori and Em, we’ll be able to complete all the work they’ve commissioned. Cori can also help survey the potential grounds for a Guild Hall.” Celebrimbor glanced at Nerdanel. “That is, if you’re interested in relocating.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nerdanel was massaging her temples, a stressed look on her face. “I’m beginning to think it may be for the best.” During Celebrimbor’s short trip, even more elves had shown up, eager to collaborate and innovate. Nerdanel was glad Celebrimbor was back – the latest group were more inclined towards smith-work and invention and were more his purvey than hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In fact, could you take your Ornéliel with you on your next trip? I’m glad she’s here but…” She trailed off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, I was going to ask about the smoke damage, but I think that might be answered.” He considered for a moment. “I can bring her along as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nerdanel sighed. Leading a guild was becoming more of a headache than she had thought. She brightened a bit. “But enough about work – tell me, how are Findekáno and Írissë?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor proceeded to tell her about all that his cousins were doing. He shared what Fingon had told him about his time in Alqualondë and how Írissë had decided to make a home of her own. “I think Írissë has come to a similar place as you – that it’s time to break away from the shadow of the past and to create her own path.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good! And Findekáno?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor thought for a moment. “They both still have sadness of course. How can you sustain the losses they have and not have some permanent marks? Írissë has been returned for quite some time. I think she has come to a place where the sadness is there, but she can choose whether or not she dwells on it; like a room she can step into, grieve for a time, and then step back into her life unshadowed.” He met Nerdanel’s eyes. “I think she holds onto hope that she’ll see her son again on this side of Mandos.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Findekáno seemed happy enough for the most part, but at times I had the feeling that he believes that if he stops moving forward he’ll be consumed by grief.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Finno.” Nerdanel’s eyes were full of sorrow.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor pressed his lips together. “I’m surprised he did not come to a greater peace in the Halls. I was able to come to a place of acceptance with my father, and, as I understood it, it was one of the pieces of my past I needed to heal before I could leave. I would think he would have needed to do the same with Russandol.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When I heard he was returned, after so many ages beyond when we had hoped, I almost thought—“ Nerdanel’s voice caught for a moment. “I almost thought that he must have been waiting to leave with Maitimo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both sat in silence for a moment.  Celebrimbor wished he’d been able to talk to Fingon after that night in the study, but he hadn’t made the time. He thought he might know something about dealing with the ruinous choices your loved ones made.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor started work on the doors – the most significant project out of everything that Írissë had commissioned from him. The doors were going to be the focal point of the house. He could not help but remember other more significant doors he had crafted before. He remembered working with Narvi, blending magic with craft, and elven with dwarven design. He could still recall the thrill of collaborating beyond what their people had thought possible before. The doors were symbolic, but from that symbol they had been able to build Khazad-dûm and Eregion to heights beyond what he could imagine before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë’s doors were nothing so great as those. But they could still hold symbolic value, and show everyone who came to the house what kind of people dwelt there and how to comport themselves in her halls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë’s doors would be gold. Once, she would have only considered silver, but now bright gold that shone like sunshine was the best choice. Her old crest had been silver, white, and blue with flowers fanning out from the center. After he sketched it for her though, they both agreed that she required a new crest which would form the basis for the design of the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They started in the center with the winged sun of her grandfather Finwë, making it more angular and raised on the doors so the sunlight would bounce off the edges. Along the outside of the sun motif was a woven pattern of white branches, which were done in platinum on the door. Across the top and bottom was a hunting scene. For the most part it was embossed, the tiny figures and plants carefully hammered into the door. In places though, a flash of color appeared where Celebrimbor bound gems and other metals to the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had asked what she wanted along the sides of the doors; Írissë had shrugged and proclaimed all of his designs excellent. Celebrimbor decided to go with an abstract design, using long swirling lines, some with a feather pattern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In all, the doors took him weeks to create, even with assistance from Ornéliel when two sets of hands were better than one. They were by far the best work he had created since his reincarnation, and while he was working he entered into the deep meditative state he hadn’t been able to achieve with his previous projects.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the doors were finally finished, Celebrimbor felt immense satisfaction. As he slowly unbent from where he had finished the last etching, he surveyed the golden doors. After several revisions of the final elements, he was satisfied. He placed a palm flat on the door and felt the intention he had woven into them and then sealed with the spells he had traced in tiny characters among the feather pattern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone with an understanding of the deep arts and Song would recognize the blessing for all who dwelt beneath the doors’ lintel, the repelling of all evil, and the soft call, but never compulsion, for clarity and truth in the dealings of all who were near. For everyone else who came with good intentions, walking through the doors of Árëmar would simply feel like coming home after a long absence, and seeing that the lights were lit just for you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The power of the doors was greater than he had been aiming for. This was his first foray into creating any deeper works since his return, and the innate ease and power available in Aman was mirrored in the doors. He was also less exhausted than he normally was after creating something that required sustained focus of mind, body, and soul. He had no doubt he’d sleep long and well, but normally after a work such as this he’d find himself asleep for a full day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking about sleep made him more tired as he hurried to do some basic tidying of the workshop. After he finished, he made his way to his room, and fell into his bed, asleep before he could be bothered to undress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor wasn’t sure how he felt as he helped load up the wagon with his soon to be traveling companions. He loved Coroniel and his mother, but his time in Árëmar had already begun to feel like a dream, and mixing it with what was now daily life seemed like it would take the sheen off of his previous trip. He had grown close to Fingon and Írissë faster than he had thought possible, with their shared black pasts and wry humor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For her part, Ornéliel seemed reluctant to travel with him. Celebrimbor was surprised – his mother was never a homebody and he remembered traveling with her, visiting various friends and relations as a child. He would have thought that she’d be happy to travel to Árëmar, but he had needed to convince her that her skills were needed to help with installing the lamps and doors before she would come. He managed though; Ornéliel really would be helpful – she had forged the frame for most of the lamps and would either need to hang them herself or teach Celebrimbor to do it. Also, the doors were huge and four people to help handle them would work better than three.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After everything was strapped down, they started off. Ornéliel and Mormerilben riding in the cart and Coroniel and Celebrimbor on horse. The mountain roads up to Árëmar were more difficult with the heavy cart than for a lone rider, even with all of Coroniel’s modifications to the cart. The journey had taken Celebrimbor three days when he first went there, but laden as they were it took four days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last part was the most difficult, off the paved road and on a winding dirt trail. Ornéliel’s face was drawn in concentration while Coroniel and Celebrimbor hung back so as not to distract the horses. Finally, they arrived at the clearing that meant Árëmar was not far ahead. At that moment Celebrimbor heard a horse coming up behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned and saw Fingon riding up, sweaty from the warm day and a hard ride and dressed only in riding pants and a loose shirt. His skin glowed from the sun and dark curls escaped the single braid that bound his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Greetings Celebrimbor! I feared I stayed at the lake too long and I wouldn’t be there to assist your arrival.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you’ve arrived just in time.” Celebrimbor smiled at him warmly, for a moment forgetting his manners. Coroniel cleared her throat</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, this is my friend Coroniel, master engineer of the Nerdanelië, formerly of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Coroniel, this is Fingon, Fingolfin’s son.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well met my lord,” Coroniel said with a small bow atop her horse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well met Coroniel!” They rode past the two stone posts that marked the official entrance to Írissë’s halls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon finally had space to ride in front of the cart. “Welcome to Árëmar! I thank you good craftspeople for your work to beautify these halls.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Findekáno! It’s been so long.” Ornéliel stood up in the cart and held out her arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon dismounted and held out his arm to help her from the cart. “I was not expecting you, lady.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ornéliel stood there blinking at him for a second. “When I last saw you, the sun hadn’t risen.” </span>
  <span>She shook her head, and took his arm. “I’ve brought you your doors, my lord.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They are not my doors, they are my lady sister’s; this home is not built from my vision.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that Írissë ran out of the hall and then came to a stand still when she saw who had arrived, formal greetings completely forgotten. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ornéliel! I thought you weren’t talking to Finwions.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ornéliel frowned. “Did Tyelpë not mention me at all?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course he did.” Írissë rolled her eyes.  “I’m just still holding a grudge over years of ignored invitations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah well. I swore off Finwions for a while. But now I’ll talk with some at least.” Despite her light tone, Ornéliel looked tense, uncertain what welcome her old friend would extend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed.” Írissë stood in front of her with her hands on her hips. She suddenly broke and threw her arms around Ornéliel. “Oh I’m sure I’ll get over it if you go hunting with me while you’re here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ornéliel hugged back. “I think you’ll get over it when you see the lamps I created for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More introductions were made, the horses stabled, and everyone helped unload the cart. As Celebrimbor walked into the hall beside Coroniel, he reflected that he should have remembered Ornéliel’s relationship with Írissë. They had been friends long ago in Valinor, both liking to hunt with the sons of Fëanor, their ringing laughter echoing through the hills together, irreverent and light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë and Fingon showed them to their rooms and, after all had settled in, showed them the hall and the surrounding grounds, pointing out where all of the fixtures, lighting, and other accents that they had been working on would go. They then sat down in the main hall to talk and plan the next few days. The talking and planning flowed into the dinner hour and Fingon and Írissë brought out cold meat, cheeses, bread, fruit, and wine for all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As it grew later, talk of work was abandoned and they moved on to lighter topics of conversation. Ornéliel soon had everyone in stitches over her retelling of the latest clashes with the town Elders</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coroniel had brought in the bottles of cordial she had brought as a gift from Lothengriol, when Celebrimbor noticed that Fingon had vanished from the main dining room. As Coroniel began pouring out immoderate proportions of the liquor into everyone’s glass, Celebrimbor quietly excused himself and walked towards the back of the house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw he was right when he opened the door to the porch. Silhouetted against the stars, Fingon was sitting on the other side of the railing, dangling his feet off the edge of the porch. Next to him was a bottle of wine he had swiped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor climbed over the railing to sit next to him. Fingon glanced over. Celebrimbor nudged him with his foot. “You’re missing quite the party. Is something the matter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon shook his head. “No, I’ve just been restless and irritable recently. I don’t know what it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So it’s not that I made the ill-advised decision of pairing up my mother and Írissë again?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really didn’t think that through,” Fingon said with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Truthfully I forgot they were friends once until I saw Írissë today. The rift between our families started not long after I was born.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon drank from the wine bottle and wordlessly offered it to Celebrimbor. He considered refusing for a moment, but then grabbed it and drank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I think I said we would talk before I left last time. We never did.” Celebrimbor looked thoughtfully at Fingon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we spent enough time prying into each other’s lives last time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor drew back. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry - I only thought it would help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could consider leaving, Fingon grabbed his elbow. “No – I did not mean it that way. I was merely thinking of the thoughtless things I said, and here I go saying more. Maybe we should talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite his words, they both sat in silence for several minutes, looking over the silvered pines, listening to the sounds of the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Celebrimbor started to speak. “You know, when I was young I worshipped my father. I thought he could do wrong. What I wanted most in the entire world was for him to be proud of me. He was not an easy man to please – he was a perfectionist, and believed that the only way I could improve in craft or learning was if he was brutally honest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused for a moment, and with a mirthless smile, continued. “Once, I created a bracelet for my mother. I was very young then, and not strong enough to even use full sized tools. I was very proud of the design, because it was based on some motifs she had pointed out to me. He took one look at it, and melted it down. I was beyond crushed, and didn’t have time to make her anything else for Amanar. She was, of course, quite unhappy with me – even though I must have all of fifteen, she expected a gift from me and I had told her I was making her something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon looked at him in sympathy. “And I thought my father was demanding.” He shook his head. “I’m not really surprised. I knew what your grandfather was like to his children. Demanding doesn’t begin to describe it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes – that’s what my father said.” Celebrimbor shook his head. “Fëanor was encouraging compared to Curufin. Not that he wouldn’t point out when something was lacking, but I remember a few times I managed to craft something that seemed to actually delight him. Now that was one of the best feelings in the world – to have my brilliant grandfather suddenly turn his intense focus on me, and then find me worthy of praise!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Celebrimbor continued after a sip of wine, “there was no way I was not following my father and grandfather to Middle Earth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But your mother was here.” Fingon frowned thoughtfully. “I was surprised she did not go with you into Exile. She always had a streak of fire to match Curufin's, and I know she is not much for piety.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor laughed. “No, she is not! I think for one, she had not tired of Aman. She did not understand Fëanor’s restlessness. To her mind there was much to create and do and see here – why go to Middle Earth? For another, her family was not much enamored of Fëanor and none of them ended up following us across the sea. For a third – she is very stubborn. Once she had dug into her position that my father was a fool and was going on a fool’s errand, there was no chance of her changing her mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed. “Their fight that night was epic. For many years after, I thought that they must not love each other any longer. It wasn’t until later that I realized that actually, they loved each other intensely, and such fights are only possible when your love is as deep as your opposition.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But! Even after Alqualondë I still thought my father was right and believed that the Oath he took was necessary and just. We had to take the ships – there was no other way across the sea. And if someone is threatening you with a spear, why it’s only natural that you should draw your sword.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Fingon said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor gave him a significant look. “We had no idea what elves could endure then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, we hadn’t the slightest.” Fingon looked into the darkness of the pinewood that surrounded them. “My justifications died quickly on the ice. Probably when our last fire died.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My disquiet began to grow while we were yet in the Long Peace. I loved Middle Earth.” Celebrimbor stopped with a frown. “No, I love Middle Earth. Still. The violent storms, the biting frosts, the deep caves, everything seemed sudden and dangerous and therefore more beautiful. And I met people: elves, dwarves, Men, Onodrim. I had never imagined ways of life outside of how my family lived, but here I met dwarves who would never leave their caves to see the sun, but were quite content and could hear the singing of stone like I could here the trees. There were the Sylvan elves, who might never enter a building with four walls and roof, and yet they were sophisticated as any Noldor, with their own history and their own song, dance, and poetry. And when I saw how short the lives of men were, I thought there was no way they could achieve or learn anything and wondered what their purpose could possibly be. Yet, there is great strength in them, and even though their lives were short I saw their tribes grow and develop faster than our own sometimes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My father could see none of that. He had disdain for dwarves, Avari, Atani, everyone who wasn’t Noldor. I began to realize he was not infallible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then of course, the whole business with Lúthien, Nargothrond, and Finrod really convinced me that in fact I was entirely mistaken, so much so that I didn’t even want the family name. I thought my love tainted me, and the only way I possibly could be free of the shadow was by repudiating everything about my father.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sorry I left him, but I am sorry I lived denying my past for so long. My love for my father did not make me any less, nor did the part of me that was from him make me lesser.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, I don’t know if my next choice of casting myself in opposition to him was any better.” He looked over at Fingon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In Mandos, I sat with him for a long time. I don’t remember the words that passed between us, but I now have an understanding of his reasons, and how the Oath twisted them. I also have his apology. That meant a great deal. I finally actually forgave him for his errors. I accepted that I could love him in spite of what he did and that it did not mean that I was the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon pursed his lips. “So that’s it – all you can do is love, and who cares what he did?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor looked taken aback. “No, that’s not it at all. It’s just –when you love someone they become part of you in a way – even more so if they’re family. Just, do not throw the good away with the bad. And the wonderful things they did were still wonderful – the beautiful they created still beautiful. Nothing will change that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I’m sorry, I just—“ Fingon didn’t know what to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor leaned in. “I just thought it would help. I thought myself tainted for so long. And accursed.” He frowned for a moment. “Well, I’m not entirely sure that I was not at least mildly cursed.” He looked back at Fingon. “It took me a long time to realize that I could take the knowledge, the skill, even the stubborn loyalty from my father and still not be him – I could be better than him. I don’t know what you took from your time in the Halls, but this was my gift and what I had to learn before I left. If that was not your battle, I wanted to at least tell you my story.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon stared bleakly forward. “Your words should give me hope, that you were able to speak to your father, and make amends, and that maybe they are not as completely doomed as we feared.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something wasn’t adding up. Celebrimbor felt like he was looking at a problem with a missing variable. “Were you not able to speak with Maedhros?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never found him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor was confused. “What do you mean, you never found him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon looked up. “Just as I said – I could find no trace of his soul. I looked for ages, wandered every hall and corridor, but he was nowhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor closed his eyes and tried to remember his time in Mandos. It was difficult, like gazing through a thick fog. Occasionally, people would appear, clear figures with no doubt to their identity. His father was like that, and his uncles, Celegorm and Caranthir, and his Great-Grandfather Finwë, but past that everything else was an indistinct shape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could have sworn,” he started, but then stopped when he saw the terrible look Fingon was giving him. He stopped himself before he made it even worse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Truly, I don’t remember being with Maedhros, but I also don’t remember not being with him, which I thought I would have.” He shook his head. “The memories from Mandos are strange as you know, almost as if from a time before words.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Írissë thinks he’s a houseless spirit”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor frowned. “That doesn’t feel right. It sounds plausible on the surface, but somehow my heart denies that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon shut his eyes. “Please don’t – it’s easier not to have hope.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s true sometimes,” Celebrimbor said quietly. He took a sip of the wine, and the nudged Fingon with the bottle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon slowly took the bottle from his hand, and moved towards him, starting to say something, but then stopped and pulled back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor wondered if the party back inside had missed them yet, but found he couldn’t move from his spot on the edge of the porch. He had intended to convince Fingon that Maedhros for all his faults was not the sum of them, and that he had hoped at least that he would see his father this side of Mandos, maybe not for several ages more, but someday. Knowing though that Fingon had not seen Maedhros at all suddenly threw him into doubt. He had thought that he’d refused to speak to him – understandable, even though it sounded very different from his own experience in Mandos. But if he had looked for him and couldn’t find him, that was a different situation altogether. The thought of the unresolved threads of their relationship bothered him. If the Valar had somehow locked Maedhros away somewhere, didn’t they know that that hurt more than just his uncle?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning, they started their work early. Coroniel looked like she regretted everything, but Írissë and Ornéliel were annoyingly chipper. Celebrimbor had not had that much to drink last night, but he had not slept well. He wondered how he would manage to upset Fingon today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They began the installation of the doors. They were huge and heavy, and to start with Celebrimbor realized they would need new hinges for them. He had time to craft them; Coroniel needed some time to begin fitting the system of counterweights that would allow them to easily and smoothly open and shut, despite their size and weight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he returned from the forge with the new hinges, Mormerilben and Coroniel were still deeply involved in hanging the weights.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just fifteen more minutes Brim. Go get the doors set up.” Coroniel was deeply focused, running rope through a system of pulleys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor didn’t know how strong Coroniel thought he was, but he could barely lift one of the doors by himself, and went to look for help. He saw Írissë and Ornéliel out in the yard, sketching something in the dirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he went over, he saw an intricate map of the house drawn in the dust. Various rocks and sticks were being used to represent various pieces of furniture and hardware that needed to be installed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I’ve found paper to be an excellent material to draw my plans on. It’s very portable as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ornéliel looked up with a glare. “Shut it, son. I know what I’m doing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor laughed. “Fine – I’m sure you do! Cori’s almost ready for the doors. Who can help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë looked up from where she seemed to be making a decision between a row of green pebbles or a single rose stone. “Oh no, I, a weak </span>
  <span class="">nís</span>
  <span> unaccustomed to hard labor, could not possibly assist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor looked at her, unamused. He knew she was fully capable of drawing a heavy war bow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë caved. “Fine, I can help, but where’s Fingon? Tasks like these were the whole reason I invited him to live here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon was helping Berengwen exercise the dogs. He was excited to hear they were already prepared to install the doors, and didn’t put up a word of protest with being wrangled into helping move heavy objects.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The four of them moved both doors into the space Mormerilben had chalked out by the doorway. They levered the right door into an upright position, and then Celebrimbor and Fingon lifted it so Coroniel and Mormerilben could drive the lynch pins in. They repeated the same thing on the other side, as Ornéliel drove in additional nails and fastened the ballast system.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time the doors were in place, Celebrimbor was already sweaty and tired. He took a step back. The effort was worth it – the doors glowed in the sunlight, matching the rustic architecture of the front of the hall, while also elevating it with the intricate beauty he had endeavored to create.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Írissë squeezed his hand, her eyes fastened to the doors. She was full of joy, and some measure of disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well done,” Ornéliel murmured in his ear. He looked over, warming at her look of pride. He felt a little foolish. These doors were not even a tenth of the finest works of his hand, and here was a whole courtyard of people momentarily silenced by them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They capture you and your spirit perfectly Írissë.” Ornéliel now spoke to the whole group.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë looked over at Celebrimbor seriously. “It’s even better than I hoped.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the day flew by, with Celebrimbor and the rest of his companions busy putting up lights, installing railings, and swapping out fixtures they brought with them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If the night before had been meant for drinking and telling tales, this night was for music and dancing. When Berengwen brought out a drum, Celebrimbor thought that he was surely too tired for whatever she had planned, but his mother eagerly held out her arms. He couldn’t say no.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To the music of Berengwen’s drum and Fingon’s harp, they tried an ancient dance from before the rising of the sun. It did not go smoothly, and they stopped midway through arguing over whether it was supposed to be One-Two-Three Left or One-Two-Three Right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon slowed his fingers over the harp, looking at them quizzically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No keep going!” Írissë shoved Celebrimbor aside. “It went like this,” and whirled off with Ornéliel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Other members of the household began to join them. Astien brought out her flute, and Dolon appeared with a fiddle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about something a little more modern?” asked Coroniel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright then. Keep up,” Berengwen told Fingon with a raised eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor recognized the next song as well, a Sindarin reel. For a moment he was transported back in time. The last time he had danced to this song, it had been in Eregion with Galadriel. They had led the dance for the summer solstice. There had been blazing bonfires all around, and a whirling mix of elves, dwarves, and men.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone grabbed his hand and he was pulled out of his reverie. “Come on Brim!” Coroniel’s eyes were sparkling. “Don’t tell me you forgot this one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That evening old and new dances were learned of both Sindar and Noldor origin, and one Teleri dance that Mormerilben attempted to teach. It was almost midnight by the time everyone began drifting off. First Berengwen and Gaildor moved outside to sing under the stars. Mormerilben, Coroniel, and Astien followed, Mormerilben asking Astien about her memories of the Time of Trees. Dolon and Gwedhril left for their rooms. Írissë wanted more food and moved to the kitchen. Ornéliel followed, still cackling over some old tale from Gondolin Írissë was telling of mistaken identity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor went over to sit on a couch near Fingon, who was still playing the harp, but a slower song now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re improving quickly. I’m amazed you kept up with the tempo Berengwen wanted to set this evening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon smiled at him. “I’ve been practicing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finished the slow ballad he’d been playing and sighed, netting his fingers together to stretch out his hands. He looked around “I guess the party is over?” a burst of laughter echoed from the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The party is never over if my mother is there.” Celebrimbor smiled fondly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Írissë is much the same. I blame you entirely if this ends badly.” He stood up as if to leave, but then shot Celebrimbor a strange look and instead sat down on the couch with him. Despite all the playing he had done that evening, his fingers still tapped restlessly on his leg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You still seem to have the disquiet from last night.” Celebrimbor watched Fingon’s hand move restlessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, it’s been much the same for the past week.” Fingon moved his hands to instead press over his eyes, massaging the skin there. “Írissë thinks I just need to get laid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor let out a short bark of laughter. “I somehow imagine that’s her usual diagnosis. Still, have you tried it?” He realized his face was getting warm, and tried to take a sip of his drink to interrupt the flush. He didn’t know why he was reacting like this – he could trade bawdy jokes with just about anyone. He met Fingon’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon was looking at him with his eyes narrowed. “I haven’t tried it.” He lifted his hand to Celebrimbor’s face and brushed his thumb over his cheekbone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor’s mouth was suddenly dry. He’d joked about finding someone with Coroniel, but he’d been thinking of some faceless smith or artist that would join the Nerdanelië. The realization that Fingon the Valiant, hero of the First Age was hitting on him was hard to process. “I don’t think I’m a good option,” he managed to croak out. “I’m still bonded to another.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon smiled and dropped his hand, sliding his hand down Celebrimbor’s neck so his thumb rested in the hollow of his throat. “So am I. I was thinking of something casual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Casual?” Celebrimbor asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon, mistaking his surprise for a lack of understanding replied, “Írissë manages it somehow. I think she just sets out very clear boundaries with her lovers. She seems to at least have fun.” Fingon dropped his arm, but still looked closely at Celebrimbor, a small smile playing on his lips. “Have you ever done anything casually in your life?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor opened his mouth to offer a retort – but then realized he couldn’t think of a single example of something he had undertaken lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon chuckled “I take it, that's a no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure there’s something I’ve done casually!” He looked over at Fingon. “I’m just distracted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon was no longer looking at him, instead gazing at the fire. “But if you’re not interested, we can just chalk this conversation up to too much wine and—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am interested.” Fingon looked over quickly. Celebrimbor sighed. “I’m just relatively inexperienced I think, compared to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon was smiling again. “There are worse things.” He moved in closer so he was fully in Celebrimbor’s space. “So, may I kiss you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor met his eyes. “Yes,” he said softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon tilted his head to meet his lips, starting with a soft, chaste press. He brought his hand up to caress the tip of Celebrimbor’s ear and used the gasp this caused to fit their lips together more tightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor slid his fingers through Fingon’s hair and massaged his scalp. Fingon responded with a nip at his lower lip and slid his tongue between Celebrimbor’s lips. His lips were soft and warm, and he tasted of wine and mountain air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without breaking their kiss, Fingon slid his thigh over Celebrimbor’s lap, so he straddled his hips. Celebrimbor could feel his erection and used the new position to take the opportunity to squeeze Fingon’s ass with his other hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon ground his hips against his, but then broke the kiss at the sound of a burst of laughter from the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What say you we go to my room?” Fingon asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good idea.” Celebrimbor’s room was strictly out of the question as Ornéliel was staying there as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon slid off and pulled Celebrimbor up after him. He led them through the study and up the stairs, but at the top he stopped to press Celebrimbor against the wall with an urgent kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few rolls of his hips and a few nips with his teeth, he pulled back with a sly smile. “I’m having more fun than I thought pretending I’m hot-blooded and just past my majority again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor groaned in frustration when Fingon stepped away and resumed pulling him towards his bedroom. “I think I skipped that stage. I was too busy trying not to die.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s really too bad – it’s a lot of fun.” They were in Fingon’s room now. “Now where were we?” He grinned and pushed Celebrimbor down on the couch in his room and straddled him again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor laughed and pulled Fingon’s hips closer, using the opportunity to run his hands over the firm curves. He nipped at the crook of Fingon’s neck and then ran his tongue up his throat ending with another nip at the corner of his jaw. Fingon tasted salty-sweet, still sweaty from the labors of the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon moaned and started moving his hips again. He placed his own light bite on the point of Celebrimbor’s ear and whispered, “No marks – I don’t want to deal with Írissë’s smug face until I tell her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be careful.” He lightly bit at the juncture of Fingon’s neck and shoulder and then reached up to bring their lips together again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They ground their hips together, finding a matching rhythm that caused Celebrimbor’s arousal to slowly build.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon titled his face back and reached for the lacings on Celebrimbor’s leggings. “May I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Valar yes. May I?” In response, Fingon moved Celebrimbor’s hand to cover his own fastenings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They pulled at the strings for a moment before their cocks were free. Celebrimbor looked down to where Fingon’s cock now pressed against his own, skin to skin, and moaned, before reaching down to grasp them together. “Is this good?” He asked as he slowly began to move his hand up and down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, just like that,” Fingon gasped, and began to thrust to match the movement of Celebrimbor’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They moved together, gasping into each other’s mouths, as their cocks slid together in the delicious friction of Celebrimbor’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m close,” Fingon murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too.” Celebrimbor sped up his rhythm slightly. “Come for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few more thrusts, Fingon came, crying out and squeezing his eyes shut. Celebrimbor caught the hot spurts of Fingon’s come and used it to stroke over himself a few more times before he was coming as well, lifting his hips up in spite of Fingon’s weight, and clutching at Fingon’s waist with his other hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon leaned his head against Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “Valar, that was good. You were good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor hummed and leaned his head back, suddenly feeling the tiredness of the day, but still faintly buzzing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon stood up, looking with amusement at their tunics. “We probably could have anticipated the mess a bit more. Let me get something to clean up with.” He walked to the corner where he grabbed some cloths and moistened them in the washbasin. Celebrimbor just sprawled on the couch, not willing to think about the logistics of getting back to his room and out of stained clothes without Ornéliel noticing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here” Fingon tossed him a cloth, and toed off his shoes before peeling off his leggings and shedding his tunic and shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor began cleaning himself. “Now you take off your clothes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon’s only response was to laugh and sit down on the opposite end of the couch, swinging his legs over Celebrimbor’s. He nudged him with his foot. “Írissë was right, damn her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor surprised himself by asking “So I should come back tomorrow night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Celebrimbor felt crushed for a moment, before Fingon continued. “We need to go to the study tomorrow night so I can write down everything I want to do to you.” Celebrimbor felt himself smiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We really should have done that first,” Fingon said. “This is how people get hurt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we managed to not mess up tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Somehow.” Fingon was looking at him with warmth in his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reluctantly Celebrimbor put himself back in his leggings and laced back up. “There goes one of three sets of clothes I brought.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll be doing laundry in a few days. Just sneak your clothes in with mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” He made himself get up; if he didn’t he’d fall asleep on Fingon’s couch and he quite agreed that he’d rather not be discovered by his mother and Írissë just yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.” Fingon grabbed his hand and placed a kiss on his palm. “See you tomorrow.” He smiled. “This is going to be fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next day, work resumed. Ornéliel hadn’t returned to their rooms until after Celebrimbor was in bed, and no one said anything even slightly suggestive over breakfast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day was spent on the interior of the house, and by the time they had finished, the hall was transformed. Celebrimbor and Ornéliel had crafted dozens of lamps that gave off a soft white light through pearlescent globes traced with running deer, flowers, and trees. The centerpiece was a large chandelier, with multiple rippling tiers building on each other like waves. The chandelier gave off a golden light, and could suffuse the whole hall with gentle radiance, or be dimmed so it only provided a faint light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That evening they dined in the newly alight hall. Írissë kept tilting back her chair to look up at the chandelier, smiling to herself. She had also run up to Celebrimbor several times that day and hugged him, her eyes bright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you know?” she had asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did I know what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you know me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged. “I think my talent has always lain in calling out and strengthening the true natures of things through craft. I was happy to have the opportunity to do so again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After two nights of celebration in a row, the group was content to have a quieter evening. Írissë, Ornéliel, and Berengwen were quietly talking by the fire; Coroniel and Mormerilben were reading.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon walked in from the kitchen and winked at Celebrimbor as he made his way to the study. Celebrimbor muttered something about needing better light and followed him. Nobody looked up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he arrived in the office, Fingon had paper out and was sharpening a quill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, is everything from last night still on the table?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor laughed. “Very efficient, and yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I figured we should start with the easy items. Oh, and love bites are not always taboo, I just might say no sometimes. Where do you stand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Same, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. OK – nudity? Being undressed? Anything of note?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes on all fronts. What about oral?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon waggled his eyebrows. “Oral is sixty percent of the reason I initiated this relationship. Assume standard etiquette for me when I’m giving – I will control the pace and no hair pulling. If you’re amenable though, I may ask for it rougher beforehand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor bit his lip considering. “Yes – if you want it. I think.” He paused, realizing he had never actually considered what he wanted in bed in the form of an itemized list. “I think I will always prefer standard etiquette when I’m giving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to know.” Fingon continued writing. “And how about intercrural sex?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes – was that the other forty percent?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hardly – thirty percent at most. The rest is anal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By this point, Celebrimbor wasn’t sure if he felt like going over to Fingon and ripping his clothes off, panicking, just rolling on the floor laughing, or maybe some combination.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He attempted a response. “I have been informed, by many people over the ages, that what counts as the act of marriage is entirely circumstantial but—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am right there with you, no anal sex. Maybe it’s all cultural, but I think I’d try to bond, and then who knows what would happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, my fear exactly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But, what about other stuff?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fingering is definitely in for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, please, all the time. I also have some toys that I will use, and I can use on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, pending approval per toy.” Celebrimbor felt like this was a strange combination of sex and trying to do taxes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect. alright, and also I really like anilingus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Getting it or—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Both.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Where are you putting this once it’s done?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon grinned. “I’m going to frame it and put it up in the main hall. I’m also writing ‘anilingus’ in especially large letters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor was laughing. “You know, I don’t think it would be totally out of character for Árëmar. But seriously, do we sign it and review before every encounter? Do I need a copy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you want one you can copy it yourself. I was thinking it could just go in my study. We can always add to it if we need to and I at least don’t think I’m going to forget anything here soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Likewise.” Celebrimbor managed to stop laughing. “What’s left?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon looked at him with consideration. “The really important things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor huffed impatiently. The list seemed pretty comprehensive to him, it was time to start making good on it. He was surprised by his eagerness. He hadn’t felt like this since – his mind slid away from the thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“First of all, what about other partners,” Fingon asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor thought for a moment. “I have no concerns whatsoever if you have other partners.” He considered the prospect further. “Just, if I may ask, can you tell me about them afterwards? It just seems like information I’d like not to come as a surprise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon nodded. “That’s very reasonable. I would ask the same of yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor bit his lip. “Were there other things we should speak of?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, yes,” Fingon continued. “One thing to know is that I’m generally not into pain, sometimes I like being tied up, but only once in a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh – well I’ve never experimented with anything like that, so I guess—“ urgently, in the back of his mind, there was a voice saying no no no stop no. Was it a memory or a nightmare? He didn’t want to think about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon was looking at him, half expectant, and half knowing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he didn’t continue, Fingon tried, “I’m not just thinking about practices that most would find strange right now. For instance, for a very long time Maedhros didn’t want to be held down at all – not in play, not in passion, not anytime.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor nodded, but was still too busy trying to simultaneously think and not think about potential triggers. He tried to step back and examine it as if it were a technical problem – a too brittle material or a gem with an imperfection.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a pause, Fingon set down his quill. “And eventually it was not the issue that it was, and we talked about it, and changed how we had sex.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “What if I have no idea what will be a problem?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then just know that we can stop anything, any time, for any reason. Seriously, even if I look like I’m seconds from coming, if you just say stop, no, get off, anything, I will.” Fingon picked his quill back up. “I’m writing this down too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel foolish – why didn’t I consider that I might have unanticipated reactions to physical stimuli?” He realized he was speaking more formally, trying to talk about himself like an experiment, as he did when he was uncomfortable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t – you’re far from the only one who thought that because the body is healed, the mind is fully healed as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhat frustrated, Celebrimbor asked, “Shouldn’t it though? Someone at least thought I could leave Mandos.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I’ve been thinking over this same thing. But unless we forgot all of our past lives, I don’t see how we could ever be free of the scars. In a way, I don’t want to be free of the scars – they’re part of me. I think we only need to be able to move through our life mostly free from pain, but occasionally we will move in the wrong way and the old injury will reassert itself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor looked thoughtful. “I think you’re right – it is likely that neither of us will find full resolution with our past, but if we are meant to be in the living world that can’t be the prerequisite for return.” He smiled at Fingon. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be numbered among our family who have earned ‘The Wise’ as a moniker?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha! No – I am quite content to leave that to others. I’ve just spent too much time picking at old wounds.” He looked ruefully down at their list. “If I were truly wise, I would have approached this from the other direction. I don’t know how much I’m up for after that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “I agree – there’s something about thinking about the absolute worst things that ever happened to you that really crushes the libido.” He leaned his chair back considering. “What about the bathhouse? I think we’ll have privacy – we all washed up before dinner. If nothing happens, well, it’s a nice place to spend time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon lit up. “You are brilliant. Let me just finish this up, and put it in my room. I’ll meet you out there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he got to the bathhouse, Celebrimbor lit a few of the candles within and took off his clothes, putting them on one of the shelves. The scent of the cedar walls was comforting, as was the familiar heat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Part of the reason Írissë had selected the location was its nearness to both a deep mountain lake and a hot spring. The cool pool was larger; along one wall there was a small stream of water pouring from a spout. The hot pool was in a separate chamber and was slightly smaller.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Celebrimbor eased himself into the hot water he felt immediately more relaxed. The stones were sized and placed so that they could be used to massage tired feet and backs. In his former life, he probably would have been here every other day trying to work out the stubborn knot that used to always plague his shoulder. Not for the first time he marveled at the sensation of living in a body with no lingering wounds. He let his eyes slide shut while he rested his head on the edge of the pool.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Comfy?” Fingon padded into the room, unraveling his braid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor half opened his eyes, watching the dim light slide over Fingon’s body. Fingon moved with unconscious grace, as if the awareness of the space he inhabited rested in the center of his being and not his mind. He slipped into the water next to Celebrimbor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your sister is a genius,” he told Fingon, as he watched his face fall into the same blissful patterns he had just experienced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She really is - I think she’s quite under-appreciated.” Fingon slid below the surface of the water, held for a moment and then came up, tilting his head back to let the water soak through his thick hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I undo yours?” Fingon asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor hesitated for a moment – for some reason this felt more intimate than their grinding together last night had. Instead of answering, he pushed himself to his feet and stood in front of Fingon, flipping his braid over his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon pulled the end of the tie. He ran his fingers through the ends and slowly carded them higher. He wrapped both arms around Celebrimbor shoulders and continued running his hands through his hair until he reached his scalp. He lightly circled his fingers for a second before leaning forward to kiss Celebrimbor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor opened his lips to Fingon, sliding his hands over his back. He felt Fingon growing hard against his thigh, as he kissed with more urgency.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Fingon whispered. “I’ve always been insatiable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor placed his hands on Fingon’s face, tilting his head to the side and placed a thoughtful kiss on his neck. “Don’t apologize – I’m just not quite there yet.” He ran his hands lightly over Fingon’s ears, making him close his eyes and moan softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” he walked Fingon back to the edge of the pool.  “Sit here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon sat on the edge of the pool, looking at him curiously. Celebrimbor pushed his legs apart to stand between them and caught Fingon in another kiss. He broke away after just a minute, and began to kiss his way down his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon bit his lip when he realized where he was going. Celebrimbor paused for a moment once he was kneeling, resting his face on Fingon’s thigh and meeting his eyes. He pressed his thumb against the base of Fingon’s cock and slowly ran up to the tip, dipping through the slit and then sliding back down the other side. He watched Fingon’s eyes dilate and felt his muscles twitch against his cheek. He was so reactive, so much fun to play with and tease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He broke eye contact, and traced the same path his thumb had made with his tongue. Fingon gasped and spread his legs wider, one hand moving to clutch Celebrimbor’s shoulder. He repeated the path, reversing direction, rewarded by a drop of moisture gathering at the tip of Fingon’s cock. He swirled his tongue around the tip, resting one hand on Fingon’s inner thigh, and using the other to gently pull on his balls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt one of Fingon’s hand clutch urgently in his hair. Letting the tip of his cock slip out of his mouth, he glanced back up at Fingon. He’d had some uncertainty when started, not sure if he’d be skilled enough to bring gratification. Looking at Fingon’s flushed face cleared the doubt from his mind. He let his eyes close as he took Fingon’s cock back in his mouth and began to move his lips up and down the shaft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he started moving rhythmically, he tried to coordinate his tongue into doing something useful while he sucked Fingon off. He suspected that his technique was all over the place, but Fingon was still gasping occasionally in response. Fingon slid a leg over Celebrimbor’s shoulder, clearly resisting the urge to buck his hips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lost himself in the movement for a time, focusing on covering his lips with his teeth and listening to Fingon’s deep breathing</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so close.”  He could feel Fingon’s balls tightening beneath the palm of his hand. In response he swallowed his cock down farther, grabbing Fingon’s hand and squeezing it to signal his consent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon came with a cry, pushing his heel down into Celebrimbor’s back as he came. Celebrimbor swallowed and then slowly slid his lips off of Fingon’s cock, panting a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon flopped on his back, leaving his calves immersed in the pool. Celebrimbor, feeling overheated from kneeling in the pool so long, stood up and then stretched on this stomach next to him, enjoying the feeling of the cooler stone against his hot skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laid a quick kiss on Fingon’s knuckles and pushed himself out of the pool. “I’m going to cool down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.” Fingon grabbed his ankle as Celebrimbor stood up. “If you bring yourself back here I can return the favor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor just smiled. “No, make it up to me later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sank down in the pool, ducking his head under water. He surfaced and went to the far end, grabbing a cloth from a bench.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon came in, still looking a little dazed, and lowered himself into the pool. “You know what we didn’t discuss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Proper post-coital etiquette.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor laughed and walked over to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon tried for a pout, but his genuine smile beneath kept breaking through. “For instance, I’m partial to snuggling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor sat behind him, and then pulled him into his arms, winding their legs together as they both sat on the bench below the surface of the pool. “I generally like to sprawl out afterwards, but I think I can oblige sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re very obliging.” Fingon leaned back so his back was resting against Celebrimbor’s chest. “Have I mentioned I’m very needy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So needy. I, on the other hand, don’t know what I need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon toyed with a strand of Celebrimbor’s hair. “I think we can make this work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next day, work began on the porch. Coroniel and Celebrimbor began to install the railings as Ornéliel and Mormerilben hung the lanterns and worked on their contribution to outdoor lighting. Mormerilben’s project for the hall was designing a system of torches and braziers that could be lit from one central brazier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After they finished, Coroniel and Mormerilben sat down at a side table in the main hall to brainstorm an iffy connection on the north side of the porch. Írissë took Ornéliel out to the stables, to discuss and pamper the horses. Celebrimbor was about to wander into the kitchen for food when he crossed paths with Fingon who hooked their elbows together and half dragged him to the back of the house and up the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pushing the door to his room shut behind him, Fingon spun him around so Celebrimbor’s back was to the door. “How do you feel about me returning the favor now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m pretty sweaty,” Celebrimbor began dubiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon cut him off with a peck, gave him a wide smile and slid down. “I don’t mind,” he said, and proceeded to suck him off with enthusiasm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t take Celebrimbor long before he was tugging at Fingon’s hair, on the brink of coming. Fingon slid his mouth off his cock with an obscene pop. “Come on my face.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor gripped himself, and stroked a few times, before letting his come spurt onto Fingon’s face. Fingon had been touching himself simultaneously, and sped up, bringing himself to orgasm moments later. Celebrimbor slid down the door, feeling boneless. He glanced at the window – the mid-afternoon light shone through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think I can get away with a nap?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon groaned, apparently meeting his need for snuggling by curling around Celebrimbor’s calf. “No, Írissë will come looking for us – remember she was going to show us that card game we talked about last time you were here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor sighed, scrubbing his eyes with his hand. “Alright, I’ll go down stairs and let you get cleaned up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went down the stairs and left the study, trying to move casually. Írissë and Ornéliel were back, and had joined Coroniel and Mormerilben at the table as they passed around the artistic deck of cards Írissë had out. Celebrimbor snagged a glass of water and took a sip as he sat down next to Coroniel, feeling like his recent activities were transparent to everyone. No one commented, and they remained absorbed in the artwork.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon came out of the back a few minutes later, whistling. Just as Celebrimbor was thinking that Fingon was being a bit obvious, he saw Írissë narrow her eyes at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look awfully chipper,” she accused as he sat down. “And you changed your shirt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?” Fingon sat down next to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you up to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing.” He looked incredibly guilty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Irisse leaned in close and then suddenly sat back. “You just had a sex!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you always know?” Fingon pounded his fist on the table. “Ever since we were young, you could always tell. No one should be able to collect this level of blackmail on a person.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The question is…” Irisse cast an appraising look at Celebrimbor. He felt his face heating up, and finally covered his eyes with his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aha! With Brim!” Írissë crowed triumphantly and smacked Fingon’s arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What!” yelled Coroniel spinning to look at him. Ornéliel slapped the card she was holding down on the table, seemingly speechless, although Celebrimbor couldn’t tell if it was with horror, glee, or both. Mormerilben just rolled their eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ornéliel frowned. “But Tyelpë, I thought you were married? Or maybe not married, but…” she drifted off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor turned to Coroniel, expecting another disbelieving screech. Her expression was sad, but not surprised. He opened his mouth, trying to figure out what to say, but was interrupted by the escalating volume of Fingon and Írissë’s argument.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë was clearly overjoyed to have something to tease her brother about. “Fingon, you slut!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Slut! You’re one to talk!” Fingon flicked Írissë’s arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am a woman of many passions. You on the other hand, are clearly a dirty Fëanorian fancier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Again – you’re one to talk! I at least have only been with one at a—“ Fingon cut himself off quickly, and snuck a look at Ornéliel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ornéliel burst out laughing. “As if I didn’t know! And what did you think I was doing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is, all around, another conversation I don’t need to hear.” Celebrimbor put his head in his hands. He looked up at his mother. “Clearly, I don’t have to explain the concept that perhaps some things are possible outside of a marriage bond to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coroniel shook her head. “Such promiscuity. You’re corrupting Mormerilben.” Mormerilben was trying to look uninterested, but was clearly delighted to hear the sordid side of Noldor nobility. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor decided to leave Coroniel’s many relationships, good and bad, he had witnessed over the years alone, and instead looked thoughtfully at her. “You don’t seem surprised.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“About the marriage, or bond, or what have you, or the blow job? Not surprised about the first; rather surprised about the second.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve had a blow job before, Cori.” Celebrimbor attempted to not sound aggrieved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See! I didn’t know that. You were always so indifferent towards sex. I thought if anything, you two had managed to figure out how to have sex on a metaphysical level.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Metaphysical.” Celebrimbor glared at Coroniel. “What would that even involve?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coroniel shrugged. “Can us lesser beings even comprehend?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingon looked fascinated and cut Celebrimbor off before he could further his fight with Coroniel. “Were you really so inexperienced? I couldn’t tell – you must be a quick study.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor was torn on whether Coroniel or Fingon deserved his ire more. He settled on Fingon. "I really don’t think this needs to be a group discussion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ornéliel waved her hand. “You’re grown! I’m very happy that you’re having fulfilling sexual experiences.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor shot his mother a look before turning again to Coroniel. “But how did you know about the bond?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure she could just tell, like I could,” Ornéliel put in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I didn’t know, because you didn’t tell me!” Now it was Coroniel’s turn to flick Celebrimbor in the arm. She chewed on her lip, trying to decide what to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally she said, “He talked to me about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He walked up to you and said, ‘Hello Cori, I’m planning to ask Brim to bind his soul to mine for the rest of time?'”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not – he was never that straight forward about anything.” Coroniel laughed shortly. “No, he started grilling me one evening, talking about laws versus customs and asking me what the significance of promissory obligations were and the entities involved. It was all very philosophical and I was confused at first why he was asking me – it seemed much like something he would have talked to Lofrik or you about. I was annoyed too, because he’d been ignoring me for weeks – you and he were the midst of planning another set I think, and were barely seen outside of the workshop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, excuse me,” Mormerilben interjected. “And this he is…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sauron, the Dark Lord of Mordor, the Lord of the Rings, and a good friend of mine for many years. Until he was definitely not. Keep up Em, I told you all this before.” Coroniel snapped her fingers at them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, I finally began to pick up that he hadn’t just decided I was his next rhetorical project, or something, when I began to notice that he was more restless than his usual ‘do I have time for you today?’ level. So then I just asked him if he was worried you would say no.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He looked a little surprised and asked what I thought the answer would be. I didn’t say anything for a moment. I thought that I knew your answer, but maybe not, and then it occurred to me that he might not take rejection very well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that would be one way to describe it,” Celebrimbor said drily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well, I finally told him that the only way to know was to ask you, but that I had a good feeling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coroniel looked at Celebrimbor uncertainly. “I always assumed you said no, so he left, but clearly—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not as intelligent as you give me credit for.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coroniel sighed. “It’s not like I had any idea either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ornéliel frowned. “Tyelpë, you know, if the Valar were going to grant anyone in all of Aman a dissolution of a bond, I think you would qualify.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor rolled his eyes. “Amil, Fingon and I are just having fun.” He grew more serious. “Besides, we didn’t swear to or before the Valar, so I don’t know if they could do anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coroniel shot him a look. “I also don’t think you want to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Celebrimbor leveled his own look at her. “I also don’t think that’s anyone’s concern.” He realized he could turn the conversation. “Besides, Amil, don’t you think you could ask for a divorce? Legend says Atar will never be reincarnated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ornéliel pursed her lips. “You know, I thought about it.” She sighed. “But in the end, I don’t see the point. I don’t want to marry another. I also…” she trailed off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t want to ask because if the Valar accept it would mean he’s really not coming back,” Fingon finished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ornéliel nodded. “Yes, exactly.” She looked over at Írissë. “Now your turn. You’ve managed to have a different case than all of us, but one I’d think the Valar would be sympathetic to nonetheless.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë shrugged. “Like you, I have no plans to marry another, so why would I want to hassle the Valar on my behalf? I have no wish to stand in the Ring of Doom and petition them. Besides – I was never meant for one love. I told Eöl that and it’s still true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well!” said Fingon brightly. He got up and grabbed a crystal bottle and several glasses from the end of the table. “Now that we’ve explored our various marriages and our utter un-repentance for our various questionable choices, let me propose a toast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Írissë hurriedly passed out the glasses and liquor. Fingon raised his glass, “To old loves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To old friends and new.” Ornéliel leaned over to meet Coroniel’s glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To living without regrets,” said Celebrimbor with a raised eyebrow as he toasted Írissë and then Coroniel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To Árëmar.” Írissë clinked her glass against Celebrimbor’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you like cheese with your sexy elves! There's one more update next week - the last chapter is a short epilogue. Thanks to everyone who commented - you made my first fic writing experience fun :)</p>
<p>Amanar - Yule <br/>Onodrim - Ents<br/>nís - woman</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Nerdanel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The epilogue</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Nerdanel strode through the newly cleared grounds, taking in the overall progress that had been made on the buildings. There were still some temporary shelters they were using, but more and more stone houses were appearing. The main house was also quickly expanding – another wing was being built right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched the construction with some amusement. Coroniel and Fingon had paused work and were pouring over the blueprints. Celebrimbor jumped off the wall he had been sitting on and bumped against Fingon, attempting to include himself in their discussion. Fingon turned his body, and Coroniel made a shooing gesture as she laughingly chased him away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Celebrimbor caught sight of her and joined her as she surveyed the grounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still happy with your choice?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nerdanel smiled, satisfaction in her face. “Yes – the space to expand and create without fear of disturbing anyone is worth any hassle with having to ship supplies here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good! Right now our focus is on our own housing and tools, so the materials I’ve needed aren’t hard to get. I haven’t had any difficulties; the Formen-Harmen trade route is only a few miles away. We can probably set up a regular meeting time with the traders.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, we should do that.” Nerdanel wasn’t thinking about trade and materials; she was surveying Celebrimbor’s face. He looked more at ease now, and sometimes she could glimpse something of the eperson he must have been when Eregion was at its height. There was still sorrow in his eyes, but also gladness. But, she thought, who among the Eldar does not have some lingering sorrow?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They watched Fingon and Coroniel for a moment longer. Coroniel seemed to have won the argument, and was now annotating the print with a charcoal pencil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve also found us some very useful neighbors,” Nerdanel said with a sly raise of her eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very useful,” Celebrimbor replied with a wink and a laugh. “Now if you’ll excuse, I’ve been tasked with finding or making more nails.” He walked off towards the forge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nerdanel continued to watch Fingon, who had resumed laying the stone wall. If he still seemed to be in constant motion, it did not seem to be in an effort to escape anything. He too was still touched by grief, but she thought the threat of being consumed by it had passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head and headed towards her workshop. It was better not to look too long. Sometimes, when the light was particularly golden and reminiscent of Laurelin, she’d catch sight of Fingon and would for a moment be transported in time. She’d find herself thinking that if Fingon was here, Maitimo must be back from Tirion as well. But the light would shift, and a hardness in Fingon’s face that was never there when the Trees were their light would be revealed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In her workshop, she began preparing her tools and workspace. Maybe she should find someone for herself, she thought. It seemed to bring joy to those who had, although it wasn’t the same as being with your bonded mate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled the sheet off of the sculpture she was working on. No, not yet, she thought. One thing at a time – there was still a lot of work to be done with her guild.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she wasn’t ready for other reasons. She looked at the emerging face on the bust she was carving. It was the most realistic work she had undertaken in years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most people who would look at the sculpture would see Fëanáro in his youth - before the darkening of Valinor, before the Silmarils were crafted, and before the poison of Morgoth rent their family into pieces. But Nerdanel was a master of her craft. An observant person would notice that the eyes were deeper set, but the mouth was more relaxed than any other portrait or sculpture of Fëanor that hewed to realism. He also wore no circlet or other jewelry that signified his position as first born of the house of Finwë. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was pride in the expression, but it was tempered with grief. His face was one who knew his own greatness, but had learned how to apologize, and knew that sometimes he must bow to the wisdom of others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nerdanel picked up a chisel, circling the bust thoughtfully. There was just a little bit more to be done to the hair, and then it would be done. She started working, carefully chiseling the stone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There, it was finished. She surveyed the bust with satisfaction. It was exactly like her vision of Fëanor returned that had flown into her head weeks ago and wouldn’t leave until she had put chisel to stone. She didn’t really expect him to return any time soon, but now there was a faint hope; forever was a very long time, and surely she was due a sudden turn towards joy.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This epilogue brought to you by the word Eucatastrophe - the sudden happy turn in a story which pierces you with a joy that brings tears.</p><p>I hope you all enjoyed! Feel free to talk to me on<a href="https://aipilosse.tumblr.com/"> tumblr </a>; I love talking about anything Tolkien with people.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>